


Some You Lose...

by CuddlerOfDragons



Series: AU Season Four (Lucifer Didn't Kill Cain) [3]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2020-05-30 16:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuddlerOfDragons/pseuds/CuddlerOfDragons
Summary: Picks up where the previous fic leaves off.  You will have to have read the first two fics in this AU series for it to make sense.AU series four so there will be (sort of) spoilers.





	1. Prologue

Lucifer

Lucifer chuckled to himself as he watched Cain’s Hell loop start again. Rae-rae pretending to be a random hospital geek and leading Cain out of the isolation room _without_ him noticing his own corpse still on the bed, was particularly good. Continuity _had_ to be maintained.

Especially for Cain.

Cain, of course, knew, roughly, how Hell worked; if he should figure out where he was…

He still couldn’t _escape_. He was in the _‘guilty but not feeling any guilt’_ section of Hell, where all the doors were _locked_. Here, the inmates were dealt with, with a certain amount of flare. In Cain’s case, the scenario subtly played on his fears. He had lived for millennia with a vast network of support workers - Hell took them away, for perfectly logical, _believable_ reasons. He was a meticulous planner, no part of his life left to chance - Hell scuppered his plans and, when there was nothing left in his world that he could count on, nudged him to make the mistake that would cost him his life and send him - unknowing - back to the start.

The ending had been interesting, though, Hell exploiting the only feeling even _close_ to guilt that existed in his psyche; Cain _truly_ believed that his feelings for The Detective caused his mark to vanish and take his immortality with it. As much as Lucifer hated to admit it, it seemed that Amenadiel was _right_ \- self actualization _was_ a thing. He wondered, idly, if he could _ever_ convince himself to bleed only when The Detective hurt him _herself_ and _not_ allow other people and events to threaten his life just because she was _’in range’_.

Hell was fluid and responsive to his desires, so he didn’t have _far_ to go to see into Reese Getty’s cell; his involvement with Father Kinley had made Lucifer curious about _his_ Hell loop.

He watched through one cycle and smiled his approval at the elegant solution of Reesey drinking the poison, then waking up in the hospital, not remembering… He saw _himself_ coming out of Linda’s, Reese watching and he wondered how different the _reality_ had been. Hell had a way of finding the key moments in a person’s downfall and then simplifying them, to the point where they were in _no_ doubt that they had done wrong.

Lucifer felt bad about inadvertently showing off his Devil face - the look of utter shock in poor Reesey’s eyes - tipping the man into madness. He hadn’t _known_ , hadn’t realized… He _had_ seen the full consequence, though - a life broken down in the face of obsession; the collected evidence covering the office walls. He remembered the day Reese had tried to shoot him in Linda’s office and, only now, seeing his _own_ stupidity, watching as Reese made the connection between The Detective’s presence and washing blood out of the furniture.

He saw him write the letter. Copies of all his evidence went into the large padded envelope along with a - doubtless Pulitzer worthy - description of what he had seen. Another letter, a bigger envelope swallowing the first, presumably to ensure everything found its way to the Vatican in the event of Reese’s death. Shrewd.

Hell’s depiction of Kapitski made Lucifer laugh out loud; no _way_ would the man have got _into_ Lux - on a non-favour night - looking like _that_ , let alone get close enough to Lucifer to try to poison him. If he _had_ been so _obviously_ out of place, then he would have been the _first_ person questioned by The Detective. Reese must have thought that the LAPD were _stupid_ , probably because they let the _actual_ Devil work with them and Hell had obliged him, hinting at it in his loop.

Lucifer shrugged his wings out, dazzlingly unreal looking, in the dingy lighting of Hell, time to rejoin the shit-storm that waited for him on Earth…


	2. Cuckoo

Dan

“I’m going to Hell, when I die.” Dan said, his voice flat and calm. “And if that’s not bad enough, I tried to murder The Devil, so there’s no _way_ they’ll go easy on me.” He gazed vacantly at the ceiling, this couch was _seriously_ comfortable and he wasn’t planning on moving any time soon.

“Go on.” The doctor said, encouragingly.

“What else do you want me to say?”

“Whatever is on your mind.”

“No matter how crazy?”

“We don’t use _that_ word in this facility. You‘re clearly _troubled_ and I can help you to talk about it, in a safe space.”

“There’s a lot of background stuff that you need to know, first, yeah? Bad stuff, some of it.” Dan had calmly decided to spill it all.

“For context?”

“Yeah. Context. Good word. This is confidential, right?” As if it mattered, now.

“Completely. I won’t judge you, I’ll just listen; I may ask questions - for clarification purposes - but you don’t _have_ to answer and you don’t have to talk about _anything_ that you don’t want to.”

“Right. Okay, then. I’ll start with Chloe…”

“Your ex-wife, yes?”

“Yeah. If I’m being _truthful_ with myself and I guess I _should_ , I wasn’t good enough for her; I couldn’t see it, back _then_ , of course, I just knew that it started to _feel_ wrong, while we were still dating, before...”

Doctor Collins wrote ‘ **Low self esteem?** ’ in his note book. Dan took a deep breath.

“She was… _honest_ , idealistic. She thought that being a cop was like on TV, where cases are entertainingly complicated and you need to work hard to find the guilty person.” Dan continued. “I think, maybe, because she used to be an actress.”

“And police work isn’t like that?” Collins kept his voice carefully neutral.

“ _Nah_ , most homicide cases are open and shut, perps are dumb; nine times out of ten, vics are murdered by a friend or family member. You gotta _know_ someone to have a motive to kill them, right? Seemingly random ones are _rarely_ serial killers; normally they’re robberies gone wrong - usually you look at the nearest addict for _those_ … case closed. Simple. Anyway, my point is that Chloe was hard work. She wanted to make detective, so she was always picking at cases.”

“And that made you feel..?”

“ _Frustrated_ , she didn’t understand how the game worked and, if that wasn’t bad enough, there was that dumb _movie_ …”

“Movie?”

“Hot Tub High School. I mean, she was _already_ sorta famous for beingher mother’s daughter but that movie really put her on the _map_ , you know?”

“I don’t believe that I’ve seen it.”

“You’ve not missed much - standard teen comedy stuff - she was nineteen when she did it, before she even _thought_ of becoming a cop. It wasn’t _quite_ as gross and cringe-worthy as the ‘American Pie’ films but it was a close run thing. The only part about it that people _remember_ , is Chloe, with her top off, coming out of that hot tub. Man, I took some shit over that, from the guys at the precinct. It’s hard to know that _your_ girl’s tits are in your co-workers’ spank banks. Anyway, for a few reasons, I was gonna break up with her and _then_ she finds out she’s pregnant and _that_ , as the song says, is all she wrote.”

“You felt that you were _pressured_ into marriage?”

“Are you _kidding_? If I hadn’t, my parents would have never forgiven me… a child of _mine_ , growing up _fatherless_ … So, a quickie wedding at the courthouse - Mom and Dad were pissed at _that_ but what could I do? The full church wedding would have taken too long to arrange…”

“So, you went from wanting to break up with Chloe, to marrying her. That doesn’t sound… ideal.”

“It wasn’t; don’t get me wrong, it was good, for a while but, y’know, with Trixie coming… that’s our daughter… _although_ …” He glared at the ceiling, remembering.

“Although?”

“Her colouring was a bit… unexpected.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Dark hair, brown eyes, at _birth;_ I was standing right there, when she came, so I couldn‘t even wonder if she‘d got mixed up with someone else‘s. Chloe’s eyes are sorta blue and mine… well you can see… and it was _embarrassing_ , y’know..?”

“Unusual but, genetically speaking, perfectly possible.”

“Yeah but you try explaining _that,_ when a bar full of drunk cops are ribbing you over it. I ended up paying for a DNA test, to prove it, finally, one way or the other…”

“And did that help?” Collins asked, already certain that the answer would be no.

“No. Oh, she was _mine_ , I proved _that_ but Chloe was mad at me for not trusting her and the guys at work thought it was _hilarious_ … I couldn’t win, y’know?”

“I do know, yes.”

“So, fatherhood… don’t get me wrong, I love my daughter but… there’s only so many hours in a day and I had _work_ and Chloe never quite understood… Anyhow, a few years down the line, Chloe makes detective and then the shit _really_ hits the fan…”

***

Chloe

“I’m sorry but he can’t have _any_ visitors for the first seventy-two hours and after _that_ , only if he agrees.” York told Chloe, gently.

“ _After?”_ Chloe sounded horrified. “He’s staying _longer_ than seventy-two… What did he _do_?”

“He locked his gun and badge in the trunk of his car, had a few drinks at some bar downtown; a real dive, Maze said, then he picked a fight. He’s lucky he’s not dead.”

“He wanted someone else to kill him.” Chloe breathed.

“It wasn’t one sided, he did _them_ some damage, I think but, yeah, I think he wanted that, yeah.” York didn’t meet her eyes, obviously upset at how close to achieving that goal, his friend had come. “Maze found him, left for dead, behind a dumpster.” He thought that this version would sound slightly better to Chloe than the _reality_ of what Maze had found.

“He should have taken some time, after Charlotte…”

“Well, he’s taking it now. Doctor Martin got him into a _very_ private clinic; they’re paid to be discreet, the LAPD will never know.”

“You want to keep it a secret that he’s suicidal?”

“Don’t you?”

“I’m surprised at you, Den, that’s all. Dan always said you were by the book.”

“Yes, well, it’s recently been brought to my attention that I have a stick up my ass.” York said, dryly.

“Which one of them told you, Maze or Lucifer?” Chloe said, laughing for the first time in a while.

“Maze.” He shivered inside at the thought of her efforts to remove it…

“But you won’t let us help on this case?”

“No. Definitely not. The real target was either Dan or Lucifer and almost anyone in the precinct could be involved.” He wasn’t lying to her, he _wasn’t_. “Even with this allergy rumour keeping the culprit off guard, the conflict of interest is too great. Dan’s safe, where he is and Lucifer is taking you and Trixie for a nice break, somewhere classified. Enjoy yourself, let the FBI handle this.”

Chloe nodded. For once she had only been arguing from habit, out of duty but not because she wanted to win. After almost losing Trixie, there was nothing that she wanted more, than for them to have quality time together.

***

Excerpt from Father Kinley’s journal

…Daniel Espinoza failed in his task and the Beast still walks the Earth. However, this failure is not the calamity that I thought it would be; Our Lord God has, it seems, smiled on this endeavour. He has given me a sign.

At first I had high hopes of success, as I watched the ambulance pull up outside the police precinct. It became obvious, however, that the patient _wasn’t_ Morningstar but, instead, a child, who had, doubtless, consumed the poison in error. I opted to be discreet.

The following day, in the hospital, I spoke to Father Joseph, who provides spiritual comfort, to those in need of it, there. He spoke of the child in hushed tones and declared that the nurses had pronounced the occurrence a miracle. I asked what he meant and he told me that the child had been all but dead, kept breathing only by machines. The doctors had been unable to help her and had told the parents - father, mother and step-father - to expect the worst possible outcome. Then, at some time during the night, the child had woken, perfectly healthy, as though nothing untoward had occurred.

The theory, amongst the doctors, was that she had inadvertently consumed contaminated food, suffered an extreme allergic reaction and then spontaneously recovered. I put no credence in this theory. I _know_ what the child consumed and what the effect would be on a normal human. I know too, that Morningstar cannot be _directly_ responsible for the child’s miraculous recovery; after all, The Devil is hardly known as a great healer; quite the opposite, in fact.

It came as no surprise to me that the child was the supposed daughter of Espinoza and his former wife, Chloe Decker. Decker, is, of course, the damned soul who is Satan’s first love. All evidence points to this being true, why else would the Beast be vulnerable in her presence?

The child is an unexpected complication. Her existence means that Morningstar has visited Earth more often than we have been aware of; that he has known Chloe Decker far longer than suspected. A brief glimpse of the girl herself, confirms my suspicions. To think that, were it not for the hand of God, causing an apparent failure of my plans, I would never have discovered this disturbing truth.

All of the evidence fits, Chloe Decker is a Godless whore who tricked Daniel Espinoza into their legal fiction of a marriage - unsanctified by God - in order for him to help her raise the monstrous cuckoo in their nest.

It seems that I am a number of years too late, the prophesy has already come to fruition. Evil _has_ been released.

Beatrice Decker is the Anti-Christ…

***


	3. Baiting the Trap

Lucifer

“Anyone with half a brain _should_ be able to work out where I’m _supposed_ to be.” Lucifer said, handing the keys for his lake-side cabin to Agent York, followed by the keys for one of his _flashier_ five-seater cars. “The Spawn’s put it all over social media that we’re having quality time together _and_ where.”

“Anything _happens_ to her, you’re _dead_ ; Lord of Hell or not…”

“Nothing’s going to _happen_ , Maze. Beatrice is _not_ the target, _I_ am and, yes, alright, Kinley’s not worried about collateral damage but you two will be waiting for him. He’s not showing up where _she’ll_ be.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“As much as I can be. I know that _normally_ \- if being personally threatened by the Catholic Church was, in any way, _normal_ \- I’d be _running_ this hunt but The Detective and The Spawn want me with _them_ and I… can’t refuse.”

“Wuss.” Maze said, with affection.

“It should be fine.” York put in. “We know _who_ we’re looking for and the quickest way to get him, is to set up some kind of bait. The car’s _yours_ , you’ve taken Chloe and Trixie out in it _before_ , it has tinted windows so anyone watching will assume that _you’re_ driving it. Maybe he’s watching this place, maybe he’s already at the cabin…”

“Either way, he’s screwed.” Maze put in.

“You’ll get in touch as soon as you get him. I can be there almost instantly.” Lucifer looked at York, a red glint in his eyes. “Prayer is the quickest way for a believer like you to reach me.”

“How does _that_ work? You have a phone, isn’t that…”

“You might not get a signal, _I_ might not…”

“Try it. Now.” Maze said, “Make sure you _can_.”

York self-consciously put his hands together.

“Samael.” Lucifer muttered. “I’m Samael but don’t ever call me that outside of _this_.”

‘ _Message for Samael,’_ York’s ‘voice’ sounded in Lucifer’s head. ‘ _Testing, testing, one two three…’_ He broke off as Lucifer started to laugh.

“Message received, loud and clear, over and out.” He said, with a chuckle. “Obviously you won’t get an answer but I _will_ come to you. As fast as I am able to.”

“Good enough.”

***

Dan

“…and Chloe didn’t understand that we all have to _trust_ each other. You don’t snitch on other cops and you _certainly_ don’t start investigating them. That’s for Internal Affairs, _if_ they get wind of something…”

“Which is hard, if no one ‘snitches’.” Doctor Collins said, dryly.

“Exactly. We prove we can be _trusted,_ by turning a blind eye; we got each other’s backs, everyone’s _happy_. She put me in such a difficult position, y‘know? She gets the idea that Malcolm’s in the pay of a drug trafficker - which, of course he was - so she’s following _him_ and I’m following _her_ and when the shooting starts, Malcolm gets caught in the crossfire…”

“He died?”

“Not _then_. He was in a coma for months, so _he_ couldn’t tell anyone what _I_ did and _Chloe_ didn’t see. Still, she had to go and make a fuss about Malcolm being dirty and then no one would work with her.”

“You didn’t back her up?”

“And ruin _my_ career, too? Not to mention his wife’s _payout_. No, if I’d snitched on him, _I’d_ have gone down too. Malcolm had friends - on the force and… _elsewhere_ \- they were making Chloe’s life hell, all but spitting on her in the corridors, no way I wanted a piece of _that_.”

“It must have been hard for you, seeing your wife treated that way.” Doctor Collins said, hoping for _something_ resembling a redeeming quality in this man.

“We were separated, by then but yeah, hard. I tried to help her, I really did, making sure she got _easy_ cases that she could wrap up, alone, with the minimum of danger to herself… _Then_ …” Dan falls silent again.

“Then?” Collins asks, gently, wondering if this was it.

“She met _him_.”

“Lucifer Morningstar?”

“The Devil.” Dan said, a look of revulsion on his face.

“The nightclub owner.”

“Yeah, let‘s go with that. There’d been a shooting, outside his club - Delilah, the singer, y’know? - drive-by, it couldn’t have been any more straightforward; the shooter’s car crashed after; the driver got away but _he_ died at the scene. Drug dealer; had drugs on him that matched drugs Delilah had in her purse. A fucking _gift_ of a case. Who gives a damn who _drove_ ; perp’s dead. Open and shut.”

“She didn’t see it that way?”

“No. Lucifer told her that the shooter said he’d been paid, that it was a hit… obviously Chloe couldn’t resist _that_ …”

“She dug deeper?”

“Yeah. Lucifer _‘helped’_.” He made air quotes and a look of disgust. “Helped _her_ all the way to a hospital bed and helped the perp to a psyche ward.”

“The _‘perp’_ being..?”

“Delilah’s record producer - short of cash, needed to increase record sales, fast - couldn’t afford a pro, so he hires the drug dealer. Chloe confronts him, he shoots her. Lucifer did… _something_ to _him_ ; he’ll never walk the streets again. Kind of a result, I guess.”

“A good result? You surely wouldn’t have wanted him to get _away_ with it.”

“I guess not, no. I guess if it’d been _my_ case…” He looked at the ceiling again. The unspoken words: _‘…he would have.’_ hung in the air.

Doctor Collins didn’t take the bait. He’d already asked a question too far; he wasn’t going to _lead_ this guy, just subtly manoeuvre him.

“The next thing,” Dan continues. “Lucifer’s manipulated his way onto the force - as a civilian consultant - and he’s Chloe’s new partner and it‘s like she got her ‘TV-cop-show-comedy-sidekick‘ except it‘s not _funny_. And of _course_ , even though we’re _separated_ , I get ribbed over it, all over again because, wouldn‘t y‘know, _Trixie_ looks more like Lucifer than she does me.”

“Your co-workers thought, maybe..?”

“Damn straight they did. It got so that I thought about getting the DNA results framed, on my desk, to save time, y’know?”

“That must have been hard.”

“Yeah, that and watching Lucifer boinking his way through the precinct - it was like people couldn’t say _‘no’_ to him - women, men, young, old; all there, with their tongues hanging out like he was the last jelly donut in the box.”

“Chloe, too?”

“Back then, I _thought_ she was. I may have got that _wrong_ but it looked… the evidence pointed to it… Why _not_ her? What’s to _stop_ her? The bastard’s irresistible, right? I wouldn’t believe her when she said she _wasn’t_ , even though she doesn’t really _lie_ …” He glared at the ceiling again, as though it might have all the answers and be withholding them, _maliciously_. “They have that in common.” He sighed. “They have a _lot_ in common, really. Both of them wanting truth and justice…”

“And the American way?” Collins finished, with a smile.

“Nah, that whole ‘Superman’ quote’s just meaningless _shit_. The American _way_ isn’t something to _aspire_ to, it’s… quantity over quality, it’s deceiving people to get what you want, it’s doing an important job _badly_ because you see a chance to make a few bucks on the side, it’s bringing up your kid to think that _work_ is more important to you than _she_ is.” His voice cracked, all tears and bitterness. “It’s never seeing the woman you love, again because _she’s_ in Heaven and when _you_ die you’re going to Hell…”

***

Maze

“You’re certain?”

“Yeah, Maze, it feels good in my hand.” Trixie said, twisting her wrist and watching the blade catch the light.

“That’s the main thing - feeling comfortable. It’s not demon forged because, your mom, y’know…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s sharp, though, right?”

“Very. Now, the blade may _look_ short but, believe me, you stick that sucker in and twist it and your enemy’s in a world of pain. You remember the three steps?”

“Course.” Trixie rolled her eyes. “Stick, twist, remove.”

“Yeah. Now, you have to remember that there _will_ be screaming and blood - more when you twist and remove - but those steps are _important_.”

“Because sticking just _hurts_ and it plugs the wound and then _they_ can still hurt me _and_ I lose my _knife_ that way.”

“Yeah. You twist the knife and pull it out, they’re gonna need both _hands_ to plug the wound, that leaves _you_ free to… whatever.”

“Run?”

“Depends.”

“Not if they have a gun, right?”

“Right. Unless you can take it off them or find a good hiding place, fast. Y’know, while they’re screaming and trying to stop the blood…”

“I wish you were coming with us.”

“So do I but _I_ have to help your Uncle Den find a very bad man. Lucifer’ll be with you, though and your Mom’s an awesome shot.”

“She doesn’t take her gun on vacay.”

“This time she will.” Maze said, firmly, pulling Trixie into a hug.

***

Excerpt from Father Kinley’s journal

…I have no idea how best to destroy the child. The sacramental liquid briefly incapacitated her once, will it work a second time? Will the banishing ritual work on her, when she has never been to Hell? There are so many things that I don’t know the answer to but I do, at least, have a plan; the information I got from Espinoza was very helpful…

***

Lucifer

Sometimes, being a truthful Devil was a bloody nuisance, he decided, carefully lifting the sleeping Beatrice from the back seat of the ‘incognito’ car. He had promised them a cabin by a lake and that was what they were going to get. Hopefully the other _unpleasantness_ would be over by the time they got back.

Whatever happened, The Detective and The Spawn must _never_ find out what The Douche had tried to do - the Palmetto betrayal had been bad enough - if _this_ was ever to come out, their pain would be off the charts. He couldn’t bear the idea of his family suffering that way. He opened the door to the cabin, cradling The Spawn in one arm - she was getting so _tall_ , when had _that_ happened? - flicked the lights on and got her settled on the sofa before heading back out for his Detective.

His family. _His_. Somehow, while he’d been agonizing over his feelings for The Detective, The Spawn had sneaked in, under the radar, as it were, firmly planting herself in his heart.

“Detective?” He said, gently, as he unfastened her seatbelt. “We’re here.”

“Hmmm?” She murmured, still mostly asleep; him sticking to the speed limit had made for a long drive.

Sighing, he carried _her_ in, too, putting her next to The Spawn, before going back out for their bags.

_‘The most powerful guardian angel in creation.’_

She had come back to Earth, his Beatrice, to her healed body, with _those_ words on her lips. She had seen her grandfather and Charlotte, through the sealed gates, and _Him_. The ‘man’ whose face she couldn’t remember, who had spoken those words to her.

_‘The brightest and most beautiful.’_

She had sounded so innocently proud of this description of ‘her’ angel but her words had turned _his_ blood to ice. He hadn’t missed the look that The Detective had given him, at hearing the revelation, either. A look that had said, quite clearly, ‘ _later‘_.

Once, not so long ago, he would have fled, rather than face this new truth, now though? What could he do but stay? He was The Spawn’s guardian angel - _his_ father told her so - the big question was, was he her guardian because he was already doing the job or was it because dear old Dad had wished it, from the first? Had he been manipulated into this? Were his feelings for The Detective _incidental?_ A red herring, as the humans so charmingly put it.

He sighed, here _he_ was, the Big Bad King of Hell, sitting on the floor in front of the sofa that was occupied by the two most important people in his universe, wondering when they’d wake up and living in fear of their _questions_ …

***


	4. A Tale of Two Cabins

Dan

“…I never realized the significance, before now, y’know? Malcolm was _telling_ me and I just thought he was insane. He had me tied up in a filthy basement because he’d told me he was going to shoot Lucifer, to keep _himself_ out of Hell and I tried to stop him. I thought he maybe had brain damage. From the coma. Something the hospital missed.”

“That’s entirely possible.” Collins said, the voice of reason but Dan ploughed on.

“I asked him: ‘You almost died and this is what you want to do with your second chance?’ and he told me. He told me that he _had_ died and gone to _Hell,_ where seconds on Earth last years, where they put him in isolation and didn’t feed him and there was no TV.”

“Interesting. Most people think that Hell is fire and brimstone.” Doctor Collins said, scribbling something on his note pad.

“Yeah. Malcolm was eating - kimchi fried rice - and I realized that almost every time I’d seen him since… the coma… he’d been eating. Anyway, he got too close to me and I kicked it out of his hand and he… he…” His face was twisted with revulsion.

“Whatever he did, it was a long time ago. You survived, it’s safe to talk about it.” Doctor Collins said, gently, wondering if it had been something sexual.

“He scraped it up off a floor that was covered in dust and dirt and rat and roach crap and he carried on eating…”

***

Maze

“You’re gonna love this place.” Maze said, as she parked Lucifer’s ‘family’ car. York peered through the tinted glass at the perfectly normal looking cabin. “The man who built it kept it a secret, I guess so he wouldn’t be ridiculed for being a complete whack-job. Personally, _I_ think, knowing how puny you humans are, that he was very sensible.”

“Do you think Kinley’s already here?” York asked, putting his hand on the door handle. “That’s how _I’d_ do it.”

“Yeah, me too.” Maze swiped her phone a couple of times. “Nope, the perimeter has been breached precisely _once_ in the last month. By us. You’re good to go.”

York sighed with relief. It had been a long drive - one where they couldn’t leave the vehicle, in case they _were_ being followed - he desperately needed to… er.. stretch his legs.

***

Lucifer

“Did _you_ know that Dan was so messed up?” Chloe asked, snuggling closer to Lucifer, on the ‘orgy’ size bed. “Was it _obvious_ , have I been too… wrapped up in… _everything_ … to notice?”

“I knew that he wasn’t coping with the loss of Charlotte but not that he was so close to cracking, no.” Lucifer hoped she wasn’t going to ask anything awkward. “Believing that he’d lost The Spawn as well was, I imagine, the proverbial last straw.”

“What would have happened to him… after, I mean… if he’d been killed in that bar fight?”

“Being suicidal and picking a fight, in the hopes of getting someone _else_ to do the job, isn’t any kind of loophole, I’m afraid. It’s not the method, it’s the _intent_. He would have gone to Hell, Dad’s very judgey about that kind of thing.” _‘Not to mention Dan’s **other** sins.’ _Lucifer thought, to himself. _‘Hell would be spoilt for choice.’_

“And then what? You wouldn‘t have hurt him, would you?”

“It wouldn’t be up to me, even if I was still _there_ , I just ran the place and kept the demons in line, the Hell loops are, more or less, automatic.”

“Hell loops?”

“Guilt made manifest as a punishment.”

“Huh?”

“A person’s own guilt determines their Hell experience. It’s different for everyone.” Lucifer said, carefully. _‘Don’t ask, please don’t ask…’_

“What about _Pierce_ , then, did _he_ even _do_ guilt?”

“I popped down and looked in on _his_ loop, since you ask.” He kept the relief out of his voice. “His has to be subtle, so he doesn’t realize where he is. It involves things going wrong in his life - small things at first - until he feels there’s only one course of action left to him, which pushes him back to the beginning.”

“Makes sense. He was such a control freak, nothing could be spontaneous, everything had to be planned to the smallest detail. He thinks he’s still alive?”

“Most of the souls in Hell believe that, yes. _He_ believes that he got his ‘mark’ back, which makes him happy, initially, before he realizes that he’s lost his crime empire. With no support system, everything falls apart.” He shrugged. “Quite tame, as punishments go.”

“No. I think it’s perfect, after all it’s the _little_ things that really grind a person down. Remember when the two of you went undercover and you had that huge fight about snacks and dips and the difference between trash and compost? Small stuff, _trivial_ but people have been murdered over less.“ She laughs, unexpectedly. “Wow, no one at that party doubted for a _second_ that you two were a couple. You even had _me_ convinced.”

“I remember. I did lose my objectivity, somewhat. I think you’re right, Hell gave him a fitting punishment.”

Abruptly, the bedroom door burst open and Trixie bounced in, fully dressed and obviously keen to start the day.

“What have I told you about knocking, young lady?” Chloe said, sternly.

“You were only _talking_ , not doing that gross naked stuff. Is Lucifer gonna make pancakes?”

***

Dan

“You don’t under _stand_ , there were bullet holes.”

“Body armour?”

“I could see his _skin_ , through the holes and, before her lawyer showed up, Vanessa Dunlear was babbling that she’d _shot_ him.”

“What colour was his shirt?”

“What’s _that_ got to do with anything?”

“Humour me; think back to that night… you’d escaped from a dirty basement and you were desperate to stop Malcolm from killing Mr. Morningstar…”

“Yeah. I hadn’t started to _hate_ him, not then but I didn’t _like_ him - overly entitled, rich S.O.B. - but he’d done nothing to justify _killing_ him…” Dan sighed, remembering how frantic he’d been. “I ran through the club to the elevator, caught my breath a bit while I rode up to his penthouse… He was on the floor, lying on his back… his eyes were open and glazed like he was… I could see bullet holes in his _white_ shirt…” He threw the doctor a triumphant look, pleased that he had answered the question about the colour.

“Was there blood?”

“Yeah, of course…” He scrunched up his face, _remembering_. “No. There was nothing.”

“Then what happened?”

“He gasped, sat up, got up off the floor, buttoned his jacket over the bullet holes, told me Malcolm was dealt with, offered me a drink, then left.”

“So, Vanessa Dunlear said that _she_ shot him and he was definitely on the _floor_ , when you found him. So, is it possible that she shot _at_ him and he fell down and _pretended_ to be dead so that she wouldn’t finish the job?”

“I suppose it’s _possible_ … but… there were _bullet holes.”_

“Were there? A moment ago, you started to say that there was _blood_ and then you said there _wasn’t_ …”

“There _should_ have been… if he was shot…”

_“If_ he was shot. You were upset; a mentally unstable work colleague had been bullying and blackmailing you and then had kidnapped you. You were racing to save another man’s life and when you found him on the floor you thought that the worse had happened…”

“It _could_ have been that way, I s’pose. If the Dunlear woman had only just left, Lucifer might have thought she was coming back, when he heard the elevator… stayed down ‘til he knew it was safe...”

***

Lucifer

“So, what are we doing today?” The Urchin asked him, excitedly, while voraciously demolishing the last of her chocolate chip pancakes.

“Er…” Lucifer was at a loss, he hadn’t thought much beyond _being_ here.

“What do you _usually_ do?” Chloe asked.

“Um…”

“No, strike that, neither of us want to hear.” Chloe added hurriedly, realizing that the answer probably involved something wildly inappropriate.

“I actually have no idea.” Lucifer admitted, at last. “This isn’t _my_ cabin, someone else is staying in _mine_ , at the moment, so I borrowed this one. The owner owed me a favour and…”

“There’s a boathouse, down by the lake, I saw it from my bedroom window, can we go out and see if there’s a boat?” Trixie asked.

“Of course we can… If your mother says it’s alright…”

***

Maze

“What if he doesn’t show?” York said, looking out of the bedroom window, at the lake and the distant dot of a motor boat, on the far side.

“He wants Lucifer _dead_ , he’ll show and, thanks to the man that designed this place, _we’ll_ be ready.”

“Mmm. Survivalist, was he?”

“A wealthy one, he had _four_ of these cabins built, last century; state of the art security, _then_ , regularly updated, since. Bolt-holes for his family in case of apocalypse.” She smirked at the last word. “Big, secret fallout shelters in the basements.”

“Electronic perimeters?” He asked, remembering what she had said when they arrived.

“Yeah, runs all the way around, under the surface, just outside of the fences. Anything bigger than a jackrabbit crossing it, is saved to the phone app. and logged on the main computer. The windows are smart glass - you’re looking out but no one can look in. Lucifer lets people who want privacy, stay here.”

“Privacy for what?” York wondered how illegal and if he _really_ wanted to know.

“Last ones up here were Hollywood newly weds, trying to avoid paparazzi. Some people don’t like to be filmed having sex - go figure.” She shrugged as though the idea was abnormal.

“So how did _Lucifer_ end up owning _this_ one?”

_“_ Now _there‘s_ a story.” She said, “It started when Lucifer popped up to L.A., one night, to buy booze…”

Lucifer: November 1987

This was the third bar he’d been in and _they_ probablydidn’t have what he wanted, either. The problem was, _he_ didn’t really know what he fancied. So, he’d worked out a strategy of sorts; go to bar, order most expensive thing, drink it. Then, if good, buy more, if not - his experience, so far, tonight - try next bar.

He waited for his latest drink, trying to ignore the misery that was pouring off the gorgeous young man sitting next to him. No, it was too much of a temptation, he _had_ to ask.

“What’s the matter, Darling?” He purred.

“Who are you calling Darl…” The man started to snarl, then his words died as he turned and saw Lucifer, properly. He stared at him in wonder, face slack and eyes blown wide with unexpected desire. “Everything’s gone wrong.” He whispered and a tear rolled down his face.

Lucifer hadn’t planned on staying for more than a few hours but this chance meeting deserved to be private. The hotel suite wasn’t up to his usual standards but it had a separate sitting room, well away from the bedroom - young Leonard looked to be the nervous type.

“My father died.” He said, settling on the sofa and accepting a drink from Lucifer.

“Was he a good father?” Lucifer asked, gently; pulling the door closed on the bedroom, so as not to spook his skittish new friend. He knew the type; not _revolted_ , as such but scared of the _idea_ of a different sexual experience. He shrugged; the young man was too drunk to consent, anyhow.

“The best; he only ever wanted to protect the people he loved.” He said this as though it had become a problem.

“Sounds like a good man.” Lucifer said, trying not to judge all fathers by his own.

“We grew up rich, there are three of us, I’m the eldest - twenty-two - so it’s all fallen on me, now that Dad… _I’m_ supposed to protect us…”

“So, what went wrong?” Lucifer asked, sitting across from him.

The tale was halting, disjointed and punctuated with alcohol consumption. Leonard spoke of his father’s death, his security company, ‘Black Monday’, shareholder’s meetings and the threat of hostile takeovers.

Finally, unable to help himself, he told Lucifer all about the biggest family secret.

The cabins.

Four in total, two of them in California, they’d been built at the height of the cold war, each concealing an underground nuclear fallout shelter. Completely off grid, they had _everything_ to ensure the survival of the occupants, for generations, if necessary.

He’d been trying to raise a loan on them but, because their most valuable aspect was a _secret_ , he hadn’t got offers of anywhere _near_ their true worth.

‘ _Noah’s bloody ark.’_ Lucifer thought, as he carried the extremely drunk Leonard to the double bed, before settling himself down on the sofa and making some phone calls…

Leonard: November 1987

His head is pounding and he doesn’t recognise the wallpaper that‘s dancing in front of his eyes. Where the fuck is he and what the _fuck_ was he drinking, last night?

Slowly memories surface.

Staggering to the en-suite bathroom in the dark and being violently sick…

Sticking his head under the faucet in the bath and running freezing water over it…

Smiling at the beautiful man who made him _want_ things that it had never occurred to him to want before… Looking into his sympathetic eyes and telling him…

Wait. Back up. Oh _no_. What had he _done?_

There was a light tapping on the door.

“Are you awake, Darling?” The smooth, British accented voice asked. “Only breakfast is getting cold.”

Leonard glanced around the bedroom; he couldn’t see his briefcase. Fuck. Whoever this British guy was, he could easily have robbed him blind.

He opened the bedroom door and, sure enough, breakfast, coffee and juice were set up on a small table.

“I… What happened last night?” Leonard asked, fearing the worst. “Did we… er..?”

“Nope.” Lucifer said, popping the ‘P’. “You were _far_ to drunk to consent to anything like _that_ and _I’m_ a big believer in consent… No, we just had an interesting talk.”

“I told you, didn’t I? Everything?”

“Yep.” Again with the popping ‘P’, this time accompanied by a smug smirk. “I have the answer to all your money problems.” He gestured to the sofa, where a large leather holdall sat. It was unzipped and bundles of bank notes were clearly visible and, at least _two_ gold bars.

“Did you rob a bank?” Leonard asked, dazed. This situation was surreal, at any moment, he was going to wake up and…

“No, of course not but I _did_ get my bank manager out of bed, so he could let me into my private vault.”

“Vault?”

“Of course, I _could_ have got in _without_ him but it’s as well to observe the niceties…”

“Who _are_ you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that you were _that_ drunk last night. Lucifer. Morningstar. Fancy a deal with The Devil, Darling?”

Maze

“…he thought that Lucifer wanted to buy his father’s company but _he_ just wanted _this_ place.” Maze said, with a dry laugh.

“What for? It’s not like he wouldn’t _survive_ a nuclear war.”

“A chance to own a luxury cabin with top notch security and a secret fallout shelter in the basement? Like Lucifer would _ever_ pass up an opportunity like that. Seriously, he owns castles, vineyards, mansions, private islands…”

“Secret bases hidden inside dormant volcanoes?” York said, with a smile; he was getting the picture, in some ways, Lucifer was just like a big kid.

“I’m sure that’s on his wish list.” Maze said, shaking her head.

***

Excerpt from Father Kinley’s journal

…the child has, helpfully, informed everyone on the internet that she’s going to be spending time at Satan’s cabin and, thanks to Espinoza, who provided me with a list of property owned by the evil one, I know where that is.

Thanks to my rental car’s GPS, I got here first and parked beyond the entrance gate, where I could watch for their arrival. Some well placed trees are shielding my car from view and, just before dawn, I saw their car pull in. The gates must have some kind of remote control device because no one got out and the gates opened electronically.

I will come back at nightfall, to act and, hopefully, rid the world of this threat. Before that, however, I must send this journal back to Rome. In case of my failure, one of my brethren will, I hope, take up this sacred task…

***


	5. Endgame

Dan

“…and we were almost friends, at that point; finding out that he likes a lot of the same movies as me… well it’s a bond, isn’t it, something we’ve got in common…”

“Shared experience _is_ a good foundation for relationships of _any_ kind.” Collins says, calmly, even though he feels like giving his patient a good shaking. By Dan’s own account, while _he_ was confessing to as few of his crimes as possible; Malcolm Graham, the murderous dirty cop that _‘Detective’_ Espinoza _could_ have taken down on a number of serious charges, was free to kidnap Dan’s daughter and attempt to kill both her _and_ her mother. Morningstar had been instrumental in _preventing_ that tragedy. Shouldn’t Dan have bonded with the man over _that_ , rather than a dumb action movie franchise?

“…but then… he goes and does something so _fucked up_ …”

“What did he do?” Collins asks, curious as to what heinous crime Morningstar had committed, that would shatter the fragile male bonding.

“Well, _first_ , he stood in front of a sniper and goaded him to shoot. Oh and he’d punched _me_ , earlier in the day.” Dan took a long swallow from his bottle of juice. “He’d turned up drunk at a crime scene - looked like he’d been partying hard all night - and it all went downhill from there.”

“Was there a reason he hit you or was it just… random?”

“He’d said something about ‘doing what he _had_ to do’ and _I_ said he only ever did what he _wanted_ and he said if _that_ was true he’d… well, punch me, I guess, cuz that‘s what he did.”

“Did you press charges?” Personally, Collins thought that Morningstar must be some sort of saint, paying for this man’s therapy; this man who was so self absorbed that he couldn‘t _see_ that his ‘almost friend‘ had been suicidal.

“Nah, nothing was broken, just a bit of a bloody nose and he _did_ flush out the sniper _and_ shield the _intended_ victim.” He flapped his hand in the air, to indicate the triviality of the incident. “He was still being weird, the following week, though; when, for some reason, he was trying to be me.“

“In what way?”

“We had to work together on a… _really_ important case and he… maybe he _is_ a method actor - Ella, our lab tech, thinks that that’s his deal - anyway, he was dressing like me and trying to _act_ like me, doing the accent; which was a _horrible_ fail, by the way, with him being a Brit. So, the _really_ messed up thing was when he and I went undercover and I had to watch him put a contract on himself.”

“Does that sort of thing happen a lot, with undercover work?”

“No; see, the thing was, the suspect was really _careful_ , he hung out in a steam room, so you couldn’t be armed _or_ wear a wire and to top it off he claimed to be a human lie detector. Said he could look in a person’s eyes and tell if they were lying.”

“I’ve known one or two people who could do that.”

“Yeah, so Lucifer looks this guy in the eyes and tells him he wants Lucifer Morningstar dead - lists a bunch of reasons - and the guy believes him. So, later, I ask how he lied so convincingly and he said he _wasn’t_ lying.”

“I’ve never met Mr. Morningstar but he sounds like a very _damaged_ individual.” He _must_ be, if being ‘Dan’ seemed a more viable option, Collins thought.

“Yeah but he should be _happy_. He’s got all that _money_ , no responsibilities, men and women queuing up to sleep with him…”

“You were brought up Catholic, yes?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s why Kinley was able to talk me into…” Dan started to tremble.

“No. We’re not talking about _that_ until you’re ready. This is an entirely _theoretical_ conversation, about Mr. Morningstar.”

“Okay.” Dan took another drink of his juice and a couple of deep breaths.

“This is only speculation because I don’t _know_ the man but I _have_ worked with people who’ve survived the abuse that they’ve suffered in religious cults.”

“I’ve seen a few, myself; kids, mostly.” In passing, as a hazard of his job.

“So, you know the kind of things over zealous parents might put their children through, in the name of whoever they worship.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you suppose those children are like, as grown-ups? Assuming that they no longer live within the cult.”

“You think Lucifer..?”

“It might explain a lot; his official records only going back a few years - children _born_ in these _groups_ are often not registered - all the religious metaphors, could be the way he was brought up.“

“He _did_ quote the bible at me _and_ he refers to God as ‘Dad’.”

“To him, he probably was. If his _father_ cast him in the role of ‘Devil’, _maybe_ he’s embraced it, as some kind of coping mechanism. Do you think that that‘s possible?”

“The scars…” The blood drains from Dan’s face as he remembers. “At the steam baths… he was only wearing a towel around his waist and when he turned to face the suspect… there on his _back_ , huge, curved… _symmetrical_ … as though someone took a stencil and a blowtorch…”

Dan buried his face in his hands, horrified at the idea that he’d been persecuting a man who had, most likely, suffered terrible abuse at the hands of people he _should_ have been able to trust. Dan _himself_ had been physically punished, as a boy but nothing that had left _scars_ \- visible or otherwise. He thought about the _size_ of Lucifer’s scars and tried to picture them on a child‘s body. He found himself flashing back to the image of a fatally scalded baby that he’d seen, as a rookie - _dead_ because of too hot _bathwater_ for crying out loud - he knew that the younger the child, the more sensitive their skin was to heat… That made it so much _worse_ because, when he tried to imagine Lucifer, as a young boy, he _couldn’t_ ; picturing dark curly hair and almost black eyes, on a kid, all _Dan_ could see, was Trixie.

***

Lucifer

“I know it’s you.” The Spawn’s voice startled him, as he prepared potato salad for their planned evening barbecue.

“Yes?” He said, with a calmness that he didn’t feel.

“The brightest and most beautiful. I Googled it. _You’re_ my guardian angel.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“She fell asleep watching ‘Frozen’.”

“With all that caterwauling? Impossible.” His insult of the film came automatically, if half-heartedly. No chance of The Detective rescuing him, then.

“When I _flew_ , there was singing.”

“Yes, I imagine they still do that.” Did he _sound_ as sad as he felt?

“I can’t remember the tune but I _do_ remember seeing the gates. They were… dazzling, like hologram glitter only _more_ but as I got close they got _dim_ and I put out my hand to touch but it was like I couldn’t quite reach. Like one of those dreams where things get further away without moving.”

“You weren’t ready.” His voice was level but tears were running down his face. He hurriedly scrubbed them away, before they dripped in the mayonnaise and _definitely_ before Beatrice saw them.

“Yeah. Grandpa said that _and_ Charlotte. And then _Him_. Did you _know_ you were my guardian angel, when you first met me?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Good.”

“Why good?”

“Because that would mean I was like a _job_ to you and you might not _really_ be my friend.”

“I’ll _always_ be your friend, Spawn. My Dad probably told you that because I was _already_ looking out for you.”

“That was your _Dad?_ Oooh, I wish I could remember what he looked like.”

“Whatever He _wants_ to look like…”

“So, _he’s_ dead too? Like Charlotte and Grandpa and Marcus… I’m glad _he_ wasn’t there, I didn’t like him… I guess… is he in _Hell?”_

“No, my Dad’s not dead, that’s just where he lives and _yes_ , ‘Marcus’ is in Hell. Doesn’t any of this _upset_ you?”

“Nah, Maze talks about this sort of stuff, it’s cool. It’s just the way things are; Grandma Espinoza says it’s all about _faith_ but it’s _not_ , it’s about what’s _real_. _”_

“It’s probably best that you don’t _say_ that to her, Monkey.” Chloe said, coming through the doorway, her hair adorably mussed from sleeping on the couch.

“I know. Grown ups can be so _weird_. All that time you thought Lucifer and Maze were _human;_ sheesh.” She turned back to Lucifer. “How long ‘til we eat?”

***

Maze

“Twilight is when humans are at their _most_ vulnerable, so that’s when _I’d_ attack but this priest’s an amateur, so he’ll probably wait for full dark. Maybe between 2am and dawn, humans are superstitious about those hours.” Maze said, making sure that the alarms were set to silent; no sense scaring the bastard off.

“I did some digging into these ‘Vatican Investigators’; Interpol have a file. They travel the world ‘helping’ people who are possessed by demons.” York said.

“So _many_ things are wrong with that.” Maze snorted, disgustedly. “Yeah, demonic possession is a _thing_ but Lucifer forbade it and I doubt this priest ever encountered…”

“It’s _real?”_ York spluttered, shocked. “You’re telling me that _you_ … could possess a human?”

“Well, _yeah_ but, like I said, Lucifer has _rules_ and it’s pretty pointless, anyway. You have to track a dead soul back to the empty body - a soul recently arrived in Hell, so I’d have to be _there_ \- and then you get to walk around scaring people, for a while… it’s a laugh, the first couple of times but… _What?”_

“It’s actually a _thing_. Kinley’s _really_ been exorcising…”

“No.” Maze said, firmly. “He hasn’t. It’s only possible for a demon to possess a _dead_ person; an empty meat sack. What he and his colleagues have _actually_ been doing, is saying meaningless words over mentally ill people.”

“There have been _deaths_ , it’s not just words and sprinkling holy water, they’ve _killed_.”

“That’s why Interpol..?”

“Yeah, trouble is, these people seem _very_ good at disappearing… after…”

“The Vatican look after their own.”

***

Kinley

It wasn’t a _perfect_ solution, he thought, as he struggled the third container over the fence - why was liquid _so_ awkward to carry? All that sloshing about, ruining his centre of gravity; didn’t God _want_ him to succeed? - but he was fairly sure that holy water wasn’t going to cut it. The anti-Christ had, after all, survived the ‘sacramental liquid’, he needed to use something more… _permanent_.

He didn’t expect to _fool_ Satan, not now that he’d failed once but he still had tricks up his sleeve that the Devil _wouldn’t_ be expecting. He had performed _many_ successful exorcisms, over the years, hopefully the little Hell beast and Its parents, wouldn’t be _that_ much harder…

***

Dan

He’d had a bad night.

He didn’t _have_ to be alone, it had been explained to him when he had woken up, here, that _first_ morning; there was a call button, any time, day or night, someone could be with him. He _needed_ to be alone, though, for this.

The place was wonderfully discrete. He had no idea how many _other_ patients were here and he never would. This was a place for people who didn’t want _anyone_ to know that they needed _this_ kind of help. No group therapy, here.

He understood and was grateful. Just think, if he went back to being a detective, anyone who had seen him laid bare, could have leverage. It had been bad enough when it was Malcolm. And Maze.

Lucifer had arranged this.

He didn’t know, for certain but he vaguely remembered Lucifer’s therapist, talking to him, gently and the cool wetness of the needle under his skin.

Lucifer was his friend.

He had done nothing but insult Dan, since day one but… there was a lack of _malice_. He compared it to how _Pierce_ had insulted him from _his_ day one and remembered the casual way he had pronounced him ‘expendable’, the withering contempt in his eyes - shifty, murderous, piece of shit - something he had _never_ seen from Lucifer; not directed at _him_ anyhow.

Pierce, was, it transpired, _beyond_ dirty and, his open contempt of Dan _could_ be seen as camouflage - everyone knew _some_ of what Dan had done; the new ‘rock star’ lieutenant _should_ be seen to be disapproving - but, to Dan, it had always felt _personal_.

_Then_ , he had given Dan the union rep position. With a hot rush of shame, he remembered how _grateful_ he’d been _but_ had there been an odd inflection to Pierce’s voice when he’d said that Dan had _earned_ it?

Now, he _thought_ he understood. Pierce had been playing some kind of game, using the precinct colleagues as pieces. Manipulating, playing them all off against one another, driving wedges between them. Sowing seeds of mistrust.

Dan’s perspective had shifted.

Palmetto had been the _final_ nail in the coffin of his marriage to Chloe but, _before_ that… how many times had he worked late when he didn’t _have_ to? All to avoid coming home and having to look in her eyes and wonder… can she _see_ that I’m dirty? When he _finally_ told her the truth about the shooting… he’d half expected her to _arrest_ him… she hadn’t. After that, though, marital reconciliation was _not_ a possibility, so, what _right_ did _he_ have to object to who she chose to have in her life? So long as no one hurt his daughter; _Lucifer_ \- for all his assertions of dislike for ‘spawn’ - had proved himself a caring prospective step-father.

Not so, Pierce. Furthermore, Pierce proved that Chloe _couldn’t_ see their dirt. Huh, she must just go off _evidence_ and, somehow, Lucifer did something that _helped_ her with that.

He started to re-evaluate _all_ his thoughts about Lucifer. Outwardly self-assured and cocky, there was an undercurrent of self doubt and vulnerability, which few people saw. Dan had never realized, until now, how privileged _he_ was to have seen that side of him.

His memory of Lucifer’s face, at the hospital, as they all waited for news of Trixie. He had looked a lot like that damned statue in Kinley’s scrap book, only _more_ … tortured and desolate; his pain, not of some biblical fall, though but the fate of a child. Dan and Chloe’s child, who Lucifer, obviously, cared deeply about.

He remembered his anger, at Lucifer paying the hospital fees and his insides squirmed with self loathing. Lucifer had merely been trying to help - he’s rumoured to be worth billions, after all - what was wrong with trying to ensure that Trixie received the fastest and best care?

***

Lucifer

The barbecue had been a great success and he thought he understood humanity’s primal need to connect with their technologically bereft past. Meat - even if it _had_ come out of a freezer, wrapped in sterile plastic from a wholesale butcher - definitely tasted _better_ cooked over a fire, outdoors. Something to do with the unevenness of the result, coupled with the smoke, he theorised.

The Spawn had eaten voraciously - no doubt in preparation for her forthcoming growth spurt - and seemed completely un-phased by her recent brush with The Silver City. The resilience of youth… The thought drifted through his mind as he drowsed, hearing the comforting sound of his beloved Detective’s snores…

Thankfully, _he_ wasn’t _properly_ asleep and both Chloe and the Spawn _were_ , when the call came.

‘ _Samael, **Lucifer** , please, I can’t **stop** her she’s going to..’ _York’s panicked prayer cut out but Lucifer was already on the move…

***


	6. Endgame (Pt. 2)

Lucifer

He took in the tableau before him in an instant: Maze holding Kinley by the wrist with one hand, her demon-forged blade in her _other_ hand…

“ ** _Stop_**.” He put every commanding, vocal harmonic at his disposal into the word and the cabin windows rattled, ominously but the bullet-proof glass held.

Maze froze and released her hold on Kinley’s wrist; he fell on his behind and back-pedalled away from her until he was pitifully cringed into the furthest corner from Lucifer. Lucifer shrugged his wings away and looked around at the rest of the room. York was on the floor in an untidy heap, blood from a head wound staining his blond hair.

“Denis?” Lucifer said gently, kneeling by him; with _out_ taking his attention off the other occupants of the room. “Are you all right?”

“Is it over?” York groaned, looking up at him.

“For now. Handcuffs?” Lucifer asked, watching Maze and Kinley, intently.

“Back pocket.”

Lucifer managed to take them out without making York feel as though liberties were being taken. Then he calmly strode over to Kinley and cuffed his hands behind his back, ignoring the priest‘s broken wrist _and_ the yelp of pain.

“What happened, Denis?”

“I thought Maze was going to kill him, I tried to separate them…”

“Did _she_ do this to you?” Lucifer asked, quietly but with an undercurrent of anger.

“No. _He_ threw his knife at me, ungrateful bastard, hit me with the hilt. Maze got a hold of him, then you showed up.”

“Do you have something to say to me, Mazikeen?” Lucifer turned his attention to her.

She looked him up and down, taking in his bare chest and black silk bed wear.

“Nice jimjams.” She said, sarcastically, with a smirk.

“Yes, well, can’t have The Spawn getting an eyeful, can we.” His mood fractionally lightened.

“Why not?” Kinley said, the disgust evident in his voice. “You’ll be fornicating with the creature, eventually, if you’re not _already_.”

There was a heartbeat’s worth of silence, while Lucifer processed what the priest had said.

“How _dare_ you.” He ground out, the ‘rage’ sub-harmonics in his voice resonating in the skeletal structure of every terrestrial creature for a half mile radius.

Kinley whimpered, as the broken bones in his wrist vibrated against each other; Agent York - who _had_ been struggling to a sitting position - passed out with a groan.

“He thinks Trixie’s _yours_ \- the Anti-Christ - he came here to kill _her_.” Maze explained, hurriedly.

“That’s why _you_ wanted to _kill_ him.” Maze nodded, Lucifer understood. “Take Agent York to the nearest hospital. Stay with him until he’s recovered. Don’t come back here.”

“What’ll _you_ be doing?” Maze asked, as she carefully picked York up off the floor.

Lucifer looked into Kinley’s eyes; his _own_ flared red, briefly and Kinley had the intelligence to flinch.

“I’m going to be _busy_ …”

***

Dan

“…You tried to murder your ex-wife’s partner.”

“I guess…” Dan looked up at the doctor, who was looking at him over the top of his glasses, fixing him with an encouraging stare. “Yeah, yes. That’s what I did.”

“And you feel ready to talk about it? You’re _certain?”_

“I’ve been awake most of the night, thinking about… _all_ of it. I’m certain.”

“We can stop at any time.”

“I know. I think… I think I should start with the dream.”

“Dream?” Dr. Collins was intrigued, Dan hadn’t mentioned a dream, before.

“Yeah. We had a case, a _weird_ one, long time ago, now; before Charlotte and I…” He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Back in 2016. It was _kind_ of religious - sort of a body worship cult, I guess - yoga, special diets, lifestyle and a contract to…” He made quote marks in the air. “’Surrender themselves to ‘Soul Depot‘, body, mind and soul…’“

“’…To the only true guru of health and serenity, Jenson Glory.’” Collins finished, with a look of disgust. “I’ve treated people that were in his cult - malnutrition and very low self esteem. I wasn’t sorry to hear that one of his victims killed him. Body worshipers don’t _usually_ go in for mass suicide, though.”

“The eventual conclusion was that Glory instigated it because he was depressed over his own weight gain.”

“Yeah, that would make sense; it would be hard to preach about physical perfection if you no longer possess it and with the ego _he_ must have had...”

“Anyway, the dream… I’m at the crime scene - Glory’s dead and the murder weapon has gone missing; in reality, we never recovered it - in the dream, _I’ve_ got it. I’m standing in the garden, by the pool and the blade is _whispering_ …” He looks up at Collins. “It was an odd thing, it _looked_ like a movie prop but it felt… warm and somehow _comforting_. It made me think of things… the feel of parting flesh with it… feeding the blade with blood. Like one of those legendary swords that, once drawn, can’t be sheathed until they’ve _tasted_ blood. Then Lucifer came and I knew whose blood I wanted to give it…”

***

Kinley

The dagger didn’t work. The thought looped in his panicked brain. The dagger didn’t _work_. _The_ dagger didn’t…

How was this possible?

The original shaft of iron had been pulled from the body of Christ, kept safe by one of the faithful and, when the faithful were more numerous, the nail had been forged into a weapon. Enhanced with silver - _also_ considered lethal to evil beings of all kinds - the dagger had been blessed by _every_ pope (immediately following their investiture) since the middle ages. The honour of bearing it was the privilege of the head Vatican Investigator. Kinley had been in possession since the death of his predecessor.

He _had_ thought the plan was going well, the cabin was dark - as if everyone was asleep - and the moon was bright enough that he could see where he was going; an asset, since holding a torch at the same time as four, _heavy_ , gallon containers of petrol, was impossible. It was a relief to finally put them down in the grass, next to The Devil’s car.

He didn’t try to open the car doors - the _last_ thing he needed was an alarm waking everyone up - hopefully, the key would be inside the cabin, for when he needed it, later… He muttered a prayer, under his breath, as he readied the holy dagger: _‘Oh, merciful God help me to succeed in my sacred task to rid the Earth of Satan and of his unholy child, Beatrice, the Anti-Christ, the foretold evil that…’_

“ _What_ did you call her?” The voice snarled in his ear at the same time as a powerful hand gripped the back of his neck…

***

Dan

“…I think the reason I’m getting the dream again, _now_ is because I finally _know_ how _easy_ it is for a fanatic to convince a believer to do monstrous things. Glory’s followers were… I couldn’t get my head around what made them _tick_ , I thought that they must be so _stupid_ and gullible to… I mean, they passed the knife _around_ … killing themselves _and_ each other…”

“It must have been disturbing.”

“Understatement. To think that people would do that on the say so of an _exercise instructor_.”

“Did you have counselling, at the time?”

“We were _offered_ it but no, I didn’t take it. I don’t think it would have helped with _this_. An old, bald man, convinces me to… just because he wears that _damned_ collar…”

“You were raised Catholic; brought up to _respect_ priests…”

“Even though so _many,_ worldwide,have been proved to be abusers, even though the religion that they represent, that my _parents_ believed in, _wholeheartedly,_ frankly makes _no_ sense at all, in the modern world…”

“And still, _you_ thought that Lucifer Morningstar was the _actual_ Devil… This Kinley must be very charismatic and persuasive, to convince a police officer to try to harm a colleague.”

***

Kinley

The demon female had hurt his wrist _and_ his neck, dragging him inside; he’d _tried_ stabbing her with the sacred blade and it had had no effect. Confusingly, when he’d flung it at the _man,_ the _wrong_ end connecting with the side of his head, it had had the _desired_ result. The man had previously identified himself as F.B.I., unlikely as _that_ seemed; either way, _he_ was probably human.

The demon was going to kill him - he could see it in the eyes of the vile thing - but he wasn’t _afraid_ , just angry that he’d been thwarted in his task to finish the Anti-Christ. The lord God would understand the reason for his failure, though and he would be welcomed in Heaven…

Abruptly, his ears popped, as there was a massive displacement of air and a voice shouted ‘stop’. The demon released him, instantly and he fell back to the floor, looking up to find himself gazing at the wings of an angel. For an embarrassing moment, he thought that God had sent a divine being to help him but, before his eyes could properly adjust to the light of the wings, the Being had put them away and was revealed to be the loathsome Morningstar.

This was the first time that Kinley had properly _seen_ the enemy, both in the flesh _and,_ this close; he was sickened. It was clad in old fashioned, black, silk pyjamas and _still_ managed to look just as debauched and hideously sexual, as it would if it had been naked. The silk shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a well muscled torso, the lines of which seemed to _drag_ the eyes downwards and left the mind speculating…

His treacherous body stirred but shrivelled again when the handcuffs went on and his wrist revealed itself to be broken.

The rage of his humiliation made him bold and he broke into the conversation with an entirely _reasonable_ \- if ill-advised - assumption about Satan’s relationship with his Hellish offspring. The effects of the resulting rage were unexpected; who knew that sound could do such damage? _He_ did, he realized; after all, it was common knowledge that a trained voice could shatter glass and then there were the walls of Jericho…

He missed the next part of the discourse but felt a glimmer of fear, when he saw the demon pick up the F.B.I. man, to leave and when the Devil’s eyes turned red.

Now it was just the two of them…

***


	7. Endgame (Pt. 3)

Maze and Agent York

His head hurt but the doctor had said that there was no fracture and no internal bleeding, so, after a couple of stitches, he was getting out of here. He stood at the hospital front desk, signing the, seemingly _endless_ , paperwork. Maze paced, distractingly.

“I’ve got a headache, Maze, can’t you…?”

“The fresh air will do you good, hurry it up.” She said, tersely, with her usual lack of empathy.

“What’s the rush?” He asked, signing the last document and putting his pen away. “It’s not like Kinley can _hurt_ him.”

“Son of a bitch threatened _Trixie_ , if Lucifer kills him…”

“Is that _likely?_ He’s never seemed…” The hair on the back of his neck prickled, slightly. He turned around.

“Denis, _darling_ , how are you feeling?” Lucifer swept into the hospital reception area, his pyjamas gone, in favour of a _particularly_ sharp suit and with a huge smirk on his face. “Only, I need a favour…”

“Speak of The Devil…” Maze muttered, under her breath. When Lucifer dressed himself _that_ meticulously, it usually meant trouble.

“You were? Well, here I am.” There were teeth involved in his smile, now; so _many_ teeth. An instinct, deep inside of York, flinched.

“What did you do with Kinley?” He asked, not sure if he really wanted to know, as the three of them walked out to where the car was parked.

“Locked him in the basement, for now; revenge is best cold and all that. I searched his car, _much_ more urgent; I’ll drop it back at the rental place, tomorrow but in the mean time…” He put a piece of paper in York’s hand. “I need _you_ to flash your badge.”

York looked at the paper; it was a receipt and tracking details for a package, from a popular courier company. The package was destined for the Vatican.

“ _He_ sent this?” York asked.

“We need to get it back, preferably _before_ it leaves the country.”

“We can _try_ , I can’t guarantee…”

“Just get us through the doors, _I’ll_ do the rest.”

“No problem.” York said, recognising, in Lucifer’s manic glee, the danger of, in _any_ way, denying him.

“Lovely. I’ll drive.”

***

Kinley

He was _pleased_ that his wrist was broken. Grateful. The demon had done him a favour. The pain was good, it helped him to focus.

When the demon had left, taking the F.B.I. man, with it; Kinley had feared the worst and then Satan himself had dragged him to his feet and to the basement - to his long, slow death, he assumed - he hadn’t expected… this.

He sat on the floor, in the corner of the empty bathroom - what kind of person has an underground bathroom that can be locked from the _outside_ of the door? The Devil did, apparently; _not_ a person. The same Devil that had brought him here, rearranged his restraints and then left. All without saying a word.

Kinley still had a cuff on his _good_ wrist but now the _other_ end was fastened to a long chain, the _far_ end of which was attached to a very firmly fixed handle - one of two - in the shower stall. He had free rein of the bathroom facilities but he couldn’t open the door. Not that it _mattered_ , the chain wasn’t long enough to allow him beyond the threshold. He wondered how long he would be left alone. Water wouldn’t be an issue but food..?

His hand and broken wrist were tucked inside his shirt - between buttonholes - an improvised sling. The wrist throbbed and he was glad of it. He offered a prayer of thanks.

He was using the pain to keep his treacherous body under control.

The sight of the wings had been… mesmerising; he had been staring into the light of God and it had - briefly - filled him with warmth and serenity but, seeing the _flesh_ of the creature had been like… gazing into Hell itself. A different kind of warmth.

Temptation. Lust. _Sin_.

Was this how it felt to be possessed by demons? If so, he was all the more certain that his life’s work had been worthy…

***

Dan

“…I just don’t get why he wouldn’t _tell_ us. He actually said, when I told them that Charlotte was investigating Pierce as The Sinnerman, that Pierce had _told_ him, _months_ ago. _Months_. If Lucifer’s a good guy, why wouldn’t he have _told_ us? Why did he let _Chloe_ \- who he’s meant to _love_ \- almost _marry_ that prick?”

“I think the more _important_ question is, why did _Pierce_ tell _Lucifer_ who he was? No, _think_ about it; Pierce is working for the police department _and_ hiding the fact that he’s actually a criminal mastermind who calls himself The Sinnerman - a title that _has_ to have passed to each _new_ leader, because the ‘Sinnerman myth’ has been going for at _least_ a couple of centuries, in _this_ country, anyhow - the success of living a double life _that_ extreme, is _secrecy_ , so why?” Dr. Collins asked, reasonably. Pushing Dan’s ‘detective’ buttons was proving to be an effective tool.

“Recruitment?” Dan ventured, then, almost immediately dismissed the idea. “No. No way he’d try to recruit Lucifer and if he _was_ trying to recruit at a police precinct, he’d probably do it through someone else, someone with no obvious connection to him… and he’d have tried to recruit _me_.”

“You think so? I would have thought that you would have been the _last_ person…”

“But he _knew_ about me; called me a dirty cop, day one.”

“Yes, the whole precinct knew _some_ of what you’d done, which made you a too _obvious_ choice. Most likely to be a plant of some kind.”

“Pierce had files on us all, he called me a confession risk and said that I might make a useful fall guy someday.”

“There you are, then. What did _Lucifer’s_ file say?” And, at Dan’s head shake: “Chloe’s?”

“I don’t know. Ella and I had looked at our _own_ files, then the Feds turned up and that was that.”

“And they used the files to pinpoint the dirty cops?” Collins had been slightly freaked to hear that a massive network of corrupt public servants was, very quietly, being dealt with.

“Yeah. Den said they’d take them out from the top down, figured the bottom of the food chain wouldn’t notice until it was _their_ turn. Seems to be working.”

“So, we have the questions of why Pierce would tell Lucifer; why Pierce would want to marry Chloe and why would Lucifer let that happen.”

“Chloe’s probably the most honest cop in… well, _anywhere_. Pierce might have been doing it to camouflage himself or maybe to set her up to be discredited, later.” Dan felt elated that a piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Was this how it felt for Chloe, when _she_ closed a case?

“Yes, that would work; _she_ was most likely to figure out who he was, so he _could_ have been making sure that no one would ever believe she wasn’t complicit in his crimes. Now, what about Lucifer? What could _possibly_ have kept him from revealing the truth about Pierce?”

“Threats.” Dan muttered, disgusted with Pierce but mostly with himself, for not seeing it. “Not against him _self_ \- Lucifer thinks he’s immortal, he’d walk into a hail of bullets with a _smirk_ on his face - but if Pierce threatened the lives of the people Lucifer _cares_ about... _That’s_ why he was so quick to believe the hit-man that Pierce sent after _me_. He didn’t even do his ‘desire’ thing on him. The man spun a tale about his sister being threatened by Pierce _‘She’s the only thing I care about.’_ that’s what he said and, on the strength of it, Lucifer and Chloe walked into a trap.”

“So, for some reason, known only to _him_ , Pierce was torturing Lucifer; possibly just for his own _personal_ entertainment - nice guys don‘t _usually_ get to be head of criminal organizations. For whatever reason, he was forcing Lucifer to stay silent, whilst making him watch Chloe and your daughter inviting, what amounted to, a homicidal maniac into their lives and their home.”

“He _tried_ to tell Chloe, in his own way.” Dan realized. “There was a couple of weeks when he hardly slept, he came into the precinct completely wrecked; she told me that he said Pierce wasn’t who we thought and that he was an immortal murderer - Cain from The Bible - she dismissed it, said he was just jealous…”

“Cain. The _first_ murderer, the _original_ Sinnerman. That would have made a certain amount of sense to Lucifer’s… um.. _apparent_ view of the world; I would take a guess that Pierce was playing into Lucifer‘s delusions in order to both hurt him _and_ lower hiscredibility.”

“Bastard had it all worked out.”

***

Eva White: courier company employee

She worked the night shift for two main reasons; firstly, it was better paid and secondly, she had _other_ things to do during the day. She wasn’t planning on staying in I.T. for the rest of her life but, right now, she needed a steady wage.

The work was laughably easy - for someone as good with computers as _her_ \- bar-coded labels did the _hard_ work, it was only the _human_ element that gave her trouble.

The other thing about the nightshift - it was quiet.

Usually.

“Tell me, Darling, what is it that you _truly_ desire?” The unfeasibly gorgeous man had looked her in the eyes and asked her _that_.

He had turned up, with an F.B.I. agent and a disturbingly feral looking woman; brandishing a receipt and asking, oh-so-nicely, for an impossible thing.

He wanted the package that belonged to the receipt. He wanted to take it away and he wanted it to look as if it had never existed. In the computer records. _Her_ domain.

“I want… I want to make my living, designing jewellery.” She had heard the words as if someone else had said them but knew that they were _absolute_ truth. A truth that had always been a vague ambition but _now_ was crystallized inside her very soul with an _urgency_ … her life was _too_ short to _not_ be doing what she loved, full time and it was only fear of failure that held her back.

“Nothing easier, Darling.” The smiling man had handed her a business card. “I’m going to be busy for the next few days but… next week, call me and I’ll sort that for you.”

“You’ll…” She believed him and she didn’t know what to say.

“You won’t even owe me.” He had smiled, reassuringly. “I don’t _usually_ take payment first but… needs must.”

“Oh, of course.” And she had handed the package over, already working out, in her head, how she’d sort the computer records…

***

Kinley

His watch was broken and, with no windows, he had no way of knowing how long he’d been here. Hours? Long enough, anyway, to discover that using the facilities was awkward with only one hand - would have been even _without_ the handcuff and the heavy chain.

He wondered if _this_ was supposed to be his death, then; slow starvation. He gloated to himself that his adversary - _The_ Adversary - didn’t have all the facts. Yes, Kinley was here unofficially, yes, his colleagues weren’t as sure of the prophesy as _he_ was but, when they received the package he‘d sent…

They would come.

It would have to be in _person_ , of course; he’d told them that the police department was compromised, so rescue wouldn’t be for days - a week at most - he could _easily_ last that long. Then he’d not only be _free_ , he’d have backup. The fight against evil was as good as won…

There was no warning before the door opened; no sound of footsteps, no sound of a key in the lock - and the door _had_ been locked - just the door opening and Satan himself walking in.

“Hello, murderer.” Lucifer purred.

***


	8. Endgame (Pt. 4)

Maze and Agent York

York was the big spoon, his arm around her waist, feeling her muscles ripple under her skin in a very _not_ -human way. The closest comparison he could come up with, was stroking one of those freaky hairless cats - if you could get one the size of a tiger, that is - smooth, warm, peach-downy skin, covering perfectly honed musculature.

“You’re shit in the sack, you know that?” Maze said, aggressively.

“No, I’m not.” He said quietly, _confidently_.

“I was _faking_ it.” She said _that_ in an _odd_ tone, as though it was a concept that she’d only _heard_ about.

“No, you _weren’t_. What’s _really_ the matter? Do you honestly think Lucifer would kill Kinley, without letting _you_ have a piece?”

“ _No_ , he won‘t _kill_ him, at _all_. Did you see the way he was dressed? All the extra detail? That’s his _Earth_ version of full armour - battle ready and looking good - he’d face an army of archangels looking like that. Shit, he’d face his _father_ looking like that. Perfect. _Deadly_. But.. still… in control. He’s _never_ killed a human, he won’t start now.”

“What _will_ he do, then? Kinley’s a danger to Trixie… oh, _that‘s_ what‘s bothering you.”

“Nah… kid can take care of herself, Decker too. It’s… it’s _not_ … Yeah, it _is_. I miss her, I worry about her; I’m crap at these _feelings_.”

“Oh, I don’t know, you’ve stopped struggling when I cuddle you. After the first few times.” He said, dry humour in his voice.

“We’ve fought together - faced _death_ \- you’re good in a fight, for a _human_. I can trust you not to do anything _stupid_ and you remind me of my parents.”

“Thanks?” Considering what they’d just been doing, it seemed an odd comparison.

“ _Adoptive_ parents. You’re warmth against my back and you’d fight to the death to protect me.”

“I would.” He agreed, truthfully; although he recognised that anything that _Maze_ couldn’t take, in a fight, would have _no_ trouble besting _him_.

“My birth mother - _Lilith_ …” She said the name with an unfathomable depth of contempt and then sighed. “I was smaller than my littermates… I never knew if she abandoned me because of _that_ or if she just didn’t notice that I wasn’t there…”

“Amounts to the same thing.” York said, shrewdly.

“Yeah. It was for the best, though because a family of Hell-hounds found me…”

“I thought Lucifer was _joking_ when he said that.”

“Nah, it’s true. Hell-hounds are sentient and their milk is… _rich_ … not every young demon can handle it… those that can… grow up _strong_.”

“I’m guessing Hell-hounds have a well developed maternal instinct.”

“Yeah. There’s a _lot_ of things that prey on the small and weak, Hell-hounds have to be vigilant.”

“And they’re happy to adopt outside of their species?”

“If their _own_ litter isn’t a large one.”

“In the same way that _you’ve_ adopted Trixie.”

“That’s something Linda would say. Thank you.”

“No problem.” York started to drift off to sleep.

“How’d you _know_ I wasn’t faking it?” Maze asked, on the edge of his consciousness.

“Body language, physiological response and psychology.” He replied, sleepily.

“Huh?”

“You’d only _fake_ it, to stroke my ego - you’re _Maze_ , why would you bother?”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t.”

***

Lucifer and Kinley

“If you expect me to feel _bad_ about killing your demons…” Kinley started to say, in reply to Lucifer‘s odd choice of greeting. He decided _against_ trying to struggle to his feet - too awkward with only one hand - and stayed sitting on the floor, unashamedly pressed back into a corner.

“Oh I _wouldn’t_ , even if you _had_ killed some. I’m referring to the _human_ deaths.” Lucifer was pleased that he’d waited until he was calm before he confronted this… _vermin_.

“They were… regrettable but _far_ preferable to allowing demonic possession to go unchecked. Most exorcisms _don’t_ end with the death of the possessed subject.”

“Enough did, to classify _you_ as a serial killer.” Lucifer held up a thick sheaf of paper. “Your Interpol file is a damning read.” _‘Literally.’_ He added, in his head but Kinley seemed to be a bit dense when it came to subtext.

“If _you_ hadn’t _sent_ your demons…”

“I do _not_ send demons to Earth.” Lucifer’s eyes flickered red, for an instant. “I forbade demonic possession centuries ago and the very _occasional_ disobedience, since then, _I_ have dealt with, _personally.”_ Lucifer reached behind him and produced Kinley’s dagger, presumably from a back pocket. “Tell me about this.”

“How _dare_ you touch that, it’s a divine _relic_.” Kinley spluttered with rage.

“Goes with the holy hand-grenade, does it?” He made a show of looking closely at the blade, even though he’d already examined it earlier. Kinley hadn‘t reacted to his ‘Python‘ reference - typical priest, no sense of humour. “An augmented Roman nail, of the type widely used in crucifixions; let me guess, pulled from the body of my half-brother?”

“Yes. You shouldn’t be able to even _look_ at it. Filthy, unclean beast that you are.”

“Well, it looks _old_ enough but, you know the _Romans_ … they _enjoyed_ crucifying people - for the flimsiest of reasons - but I suppose it _could_ be genuine.” He ignored the insult, it was what he’d come to expect, from Kinley’s kind.

“It’s an excellent tool for driving out the demonic.” Kinley said, confidently; he refused to dwell on his failure with the demon bitch from earlier.

“I suppose you would think that. Quite a few of your victims died of blood poisoning, after being carved into with this. Ooh, except this one.” He held up a file. “An elderly lady - aged eighty-two - strangulation; fancied a change, did you? Autopsy says a thin ligature; let me guess, sacred string?” His disgust was palpable.

“She _was_ possessed. She was seen, in _church,_ _pleasuring_ herself and shouting obscenities. Her family were happy to…”

“See her murdered for embarrassing them? She had an undiagnosed brain tumour, it says so, right here, in the autopsy report. Her son and daughter-in-law were both imprisoned for being complicit in her murder; why weren’t _you?”_

“God would not allow me to be _punished_ for doing his work.” Kinley said, smugly, as though it should be obvious.

“Dear Old Dad doesn’t give a toss; _he_ stopped bothering after my half-brother failed so spectacularly. _You_ mean that the Vatican wouldn’t let you drag _their_ name into disrepute or, at least, not help to blacken it further.”

“All the false witnesses are _your_ doing, your demons are possessing the vulnerable and telling _lies_ designed to bring down the catholic church…”

“ _None_ of _these_ people were possessed.” He shook the Interpol files, to emphasize who he was talking about. “Neither are the abuse survivors who’ve been _courageous_ enough to testify _against_ yourkind. I suppose you were planning to go after _them_ next.“ He sighed, looking at the dagger, the silver ornamentation glittering in the light. “Beautiful workmanship.“ He said, almost sadly and then - using only the hand he held it in - crumpled it into a useless hunk of metal.

Kinley gasped as though it had been his _heart_ that Lucifer had crushed.

“You _sacrilegious_ …” He ground out, his face turning purple with rage.

“Sacrilegious? You accuse me… _you,_ who have broken so _many_ commandments.”

“The _deaths_ were…”

“Let’s start _smaller_ than the deaths, shall we. Let’s start with you worshiping my half-brother, you _even_ worship his human _mum_ ; conveniently forgetting what _Dad_ said about other gods. Then there’s the one about _graven images_ ; after all, you wear a crucifix.”

“I…”

“Never read that one? Or did you just not _understand_ it?”

“It’s _not_ …”

“Of course it is. A tiny statue of my poor half-brother, when he was at his most vulnerable.”

“At his most _glorious_ , dying for humanity’s sins…”

“I’d get him down here to explain it to you, in person but…”

“He doesn’t answer to _you_.”

“He doesn’t.” Lucifer sighed, he sounded tired. “Of _course_ he doesn’t but, if I _asked_ , he’d come. I wouldn’t do it to him, though. He gets _so_ depressed about it all; he was so sure it would _work_ … poor sod.”

“What do you mean it didn’t work? He founded the one true religion…”

“Yeah, you calling it _that_ is partof the problem. He was trying to spread the message that killing, even - _especially_ \- in Dad’s name, was _wrong_ and what happened? Multiple Christian sects, fighting the faithful of _other_ religions _and_ each other; all in the name of ‘The Prince of _Peace‘;_ all believing that _they_ have the right of it. He thought that preaching empathy would _stop_ that kind of thing, not make it _worse_.”

“Empathy?”

“ _Hello?”_ Lucifer said, sarcastically. _“_ ‘ _Love thy neighbour as thy **self** ’. _Does _that_ ring any bells?The popular translation _does_ sound a _bit_ like an invitation to an orgy, I know but the general idea is that _before_ you do something to someone, you put yourself in _their_ shoes, consider how _you_ would feel, if someone was doing that to _you_. Humans are capable of abstract thought; you can _imagine_ how another person’s pain would feel… you have _free will_ , you can choose _not_ to hurt each other. If _everyone_ did that…”

“If _I_ were to be possessed by a demon, I would hope that my colleagues would do their utmost, whatever the cost to me.”

“For _that_ to happen, you would have to be already _dead_ , your soul would have to be in _Hell_ and a demon would _then_ have to follow the soul’s trail, back to your corpse and reanimate it. Believe me, killing your body again _wouldn‘t_ kill the demon _or_ miraculously bring _you_ back to life.”

“Believe _you?_ The Prince of _Lies?_ You might have me at a small disadvantage, at the moment but I’m _not_ so weak that I‘d start believing anything that _you_ might have to say _.”_

***

Dan

“…I think, the worst thing was _wondering_ … not being able to ask her because she was… gone. Wondering if she didn’t _tell_ me because she didn’t know if _I_ was in on it. If she thought that, maybe, I couldn’t be trusted.” Dan said, as he sighed and reached for the tissues.

“And you feel different, now?” Dr. Collins was very pleased with Dan’s progress but he kept his voice neutral.

“I got to thinking about _threats_. Pierce’s file on Ella Lopez said that her brothers could be used as leverage and I guess _that_ would follow for _any_ family members or people that a person cares about. Everyone cares about _someone_. My point is, Pierce had taken the trouble to do the _research_ ; he knew about Ella’s brothers’ criminal records and he knew that she’d stuck her neck out for them, now and then… it’s not enough to threaten _family_ \- I mean, I get the idea that if someone threatened to torture and kill Lucifer’s _dad_ , for instance, he’d shrug, book a front row seat and buy popcorn.”

“You’d be surprised, _he_ might even believe that of himself but, if it _happened_ … I get your point, though. Pierce had researched you all, before he arrived at your precinct, he knew all your weaknesses.”

“Lucifer maintains that _he_ didn’t tell Charlotte about Pierce being The Sinnerman and I believe him, he was genuinely surprised that she knew; that means she must have figured it out on her _own_ and took it upon herself to… not _telling_ anyone, not wanting to endanger… trying to find _proof_.” He dabbed at the fresh tears which were coming. “There was something _else_ going on with her, though. Before Pierce came. Something _weird_. When I _first_ met her she… seduced me, deliberately, to use me for… information to get at Lucifer and Chloe. She treated me like dirt but kept coming back for sex - which, I’m ashamed to say, I let her have - she said I was her favourite _human_ …” He sniffed, wiped his nose and took a long pull from his juice bottle. “She told Chloe that she was Lucifer’s stepmother and Chloe said that Lucifer _sort of_ confirmed it… in that non-committal kind of way that he has, when he‘s trying to tell the truth and lie at the same time.” He caught the look on Dr. Collins’ face. “I know that sounds _weird_ but… of all of us, she… understands him the best. He _was_ furious when he found out I’d _slept_ with Charlotte - funny story, that, really - but… here’s the thing… she _wasn’t…”_

“She wasn’t..?”

“His stepmother. I’ve researched her _life_ , since she… there’s no _possible_ window of opportunity when she could have been married to _anyone_ other than the husband she had when _I_ met her…”

***

Kinley

He was glad to be alone, he didn’t want to show any more weakness to the vile beast that walked the Earth disguised as a man.

He couldn’t stop shaking.

After Satan left, Kinley had tried to calm himself by reciting the 23rd Psalm but he kept getting stuck on the _‘Valley of the shadow of death’_ part because, to his shame, he did, very much, fear evil.

This wasn’t like facing demonic possession, at all. He’d lost count of the number of exorcisms that he’d performed, only a small fraction of which had led to the death of the subject. That was hardly _his_ fault - obviously demons only possess the _weak_ \- maybe having a demon inside diminished the immune system, in some way. His brain warmed to the idea and his shaking subsided; could it be that HIV was a result of the demonic? Of _course_ the type of humans that contracted it were influenced by evil - abusing their bodies the way that they did…

He started to plan the wording of a thesis - wishing he had access to pen and paper - that he could impress his colleagues with, when they rescued him. He found that it was an excellent way to take his mind off what had happened to him, when The Devil had asked: _‘What is it that you truly desire?’_

***


	9. Rage No More

Dan

“… _is_ amnesia real? I always thought that it was a plot device, more than anything. Or a way to evade responsibility for crimes committed…”

“Well, it’s not like in the films but, yes, it exists, of course it does, anyone who’s ever drunk too much and forgotten what they did…”

“Yeah, sure. That’s happened to me but _Charlotte_ … she fell off Santa Monica pier and forgot… like… a whole chunk of her _life.”_

“The part with _you_ in it?”

“Yeah. That part. When she woke up, Lucifer called her ‘Mum’ and _she_ said something about her kids only being ten and _then_ he corrected himself and called her Charlotte, like he _knew_ that she was _different_ … a different person.”

“ _That_ sounds more like Dissociative Identity Disorder, which is rare and seems unlikely, without _some_ kind of previous history. You say she fell off the pier and was unconscious, did she have a head injury?”

“Not that I’m aware of, no.”

“Were there drugs involved?”

“Again, not that I know of. She just didn’t _remember_. _Any_ of it: not using _me_ to hurt Lucifer and Chloe, not being Lucifer and Amenadiel’s step-mother…“ At Collins’ questioning look, he added. “Amenadiel’s Lucifer’s brother - you’d never know to look at them, though - different races; makes sense if they grew up in a cult, no _way_ they share the same parents… Amenadiel told me Charlotte was in Heaven… I went to confession for the first time in years… met Kinley.“ He opened another bottle of juice. “I wouldn’t say no to something stronger.“ He said, with a wry smile.

“We try to avoid _anything_ of that kind, here.“ Dr. Collins said, smiling back at him. “We don’t even medicate, unless it’s _absolutely_ necessary; this sort of thing goes better with a clear head.”

“Yeah, I can see that, yeah. So,“ He took a deep breath. “Charlotte… I thought she was just ghosting me, you know but she really _didn’t_ remember me… but there was a connection, so I worked at it, she was worth it and… she’d defended the lowest scum… so she’d never judge _me_ … not like Chloe. We did the _dating_ thing, talked, not like before, when it was just… I don’t know _what_ it was, before. _Then_ , when we got back together, properly, when we started to _sleep_ together again… _that_ was different too… the sex… and when she _slept_ , she had nightmares. She told me that they were of Hell, that the months she couldn’t remember was because she’d been _dead_ , then and someone _else_ was walking around in her body while _she_ was in Hell.”

“Like your colleague, Malcolm. Without the walking around part.”

“Yeah, only _Charlotte_ said that Hell, for _her_ , was watching her family being killed, over and over, by different criminals that _she’d_ defended - kept from prison, even though she knew that they were guilty. She said she was being punished for the crimes they committed _after_ she got them acquitted.”

“And that’s why she became a prosecutor?”

“Yeah. She wanted redemption and she thought that _that_ was the way to go.”

“And Amenadiel said she was in Heaven, so it must have worked?”

“You believe that stuff?”

“ _My_ beliefs are irrelevant, it’s what _you_ believe that counts.”

“I don’t _know_. It’s not like I thought about… God… in years. Then Lucifer shows up, insisting that he’s the real deal and… suddenly, _everyone_ seems to be… referencing… Malcolm killed Satanists and a street preacher; tried to frame Lucifer… Charlotte was convinced she’d died and gone to Hell… it’s like everywhere I turn… Heaven, Hell.. angels, demons…”

“That sounds a bit like a phenomenon called ‘The Frequency Illusion’. It happens to most people at some point; they hear a new… _word_ or _concept_ , for example… never heard it in their lives before that day and then suddenly they hear it all over, as though it’s following them, as though it’s all anyone wants to say…”

“Yeah, like that. There’s a _name_ for that? Of course there is… you therapists have labels for _everything_ …” Dan could feel his rage building, again.

***

Lucifer

He had never wanted to kill a human _more_ than he wanted to kill Kinley. Not even Cain - who he probably _would_ have killed, had Chloe not shown up when she did - had been asking for death as eloquently as this _damned_ priest.

Damned priest. That was almost funny, considering the number of priests currently rotting in Hell - more than were in Heaven, he was sure. What was it about religious beliefs that brought out the _worst_ of people? Not just priests, almost _any_ kind of religious leader, pumped up with self-righteous innate smugness - secure in the knowledge that _they_ were _right_ and if _your_ beliefs weren’t the same, _you_ would _always_ be wrong.

It was such a laugh to meet them in Hell; here on _Earth_ , not so much. Knowing that Kinley was _destined_ for Hell did nothing to placate Lucifer’s rage, not now that he knew what the vile man desired.

The death of The Spawn, _his_ Beatrice, in the mistaken belief that she was the Anti-Christ. The death of his Detective, for the ‘crime’ of loving Satan. And, of course, Lucifer’s own banishment to the pits of Hell, for all eternity.

 _Talking_ hadn’t worked with the smug git, so Lucifer had looked into the eyes of the man and pushed with all of his gift and… an unimaginable depth of hatred had spewed back at him.

The evil bastard had cold heartedly planned to murder all three of them, put their bodies in their car, douse them with petrol and incinerate them. He had hoped that the cleansing fire would keep them from returning.

Beatrice and Chloe would _certainly_ have been gone for good, as for _him_ , probably not; once his detective had been dead, he would surely have recovered…

Kinley couldn’t be reasoned with. Lucifer had ended up leaving him to stew, while _he_ calmed him _self_ down.

Spending the day with Chloe and the urchin, helped but completely _failed_ to quiet the endless, futile, replaying of his and Kinley’s conversation.

 _‘ **Why** would you kill an innocent child? Your bloody religion doesn’t sanction **that** , you damned hypocrite…’ _He had tried to argue.

‘She’s not **innocent** , she’s **your** filthy Hell-spawn and the world is better off, with **her** back in Hell.’

‘You can’t even **contemplate** the notion of being **wrong** , can you?’

 _‘My being **wrong** wouldn’t matter. **If** she’s an innocent **human** child, her soul will simply go to Heaven.’ _He had smiled that self assured smile that made Lucifer want to eviscerate him on the spot. _‘God will understand my mistake, there will be no harm done. **And** , she will no longer be in a position to be corrupted by **you**. I would have been doing her a **favour** , taking her soul from the influence of you **and** her whore of a mother.’_

He had felt his eyes flaring red at Kinley’s _insane_ attitude to murder, not to mention the bad-mouthing of his Detective and, for the first time since he lost it, realized that he _didn’t_ want his devil face back. How could _he_ take the moral high-ground with this… _filth_ , if _he_ was the one that looked like the monster?

 _‘The child is under **my** protection.’ _He had said, calmly and, not for the first time, wondering why believers couldn‘t all be like Ms. Lopez - happily spreading _joy_ instead of hatred.

_‘Why; if she’s not **yours**? Is it because her mother is your first love? The prophesy is **real**. Evil **will** be released and God has tasked **me** with preventing it.’_

_‘Oh, Dad has tasked **you** , has he? The most powerful entity in creation - with an **army** of angels to command - has chosen to give this **important** , world-saving task, to an elderly, pathetic, **murderous** human.’ _He had said, sarcastically, as he had swept from the room.

***

Dan

“…I suppose we’ll be talking about the stages of grief, next.“ Dan spat, venomously. “And how I need to get past ‘rage’.”

“Not at all.” Dr. Collins said, mildly. “You evidently already _know_ that. Pierce is dead, so all that white hot anger has been redirected to Mr. Morningstar - a man who was probably _brought up_ to believe that humanity’s woes were all _his_ fault. An easy target for blame, don’t you think?”

“She loved me, she _did_. We could have been so _happy_ …” Dan was crying so hard that he could barely speak.

“And you know this because she inserted _you_ into her nightmares? The ones where her loved ones were being killed.”

Dan made an incoherent sound of agreement, pouring tears and snot, unashamedly, into an inadequate handful of tissues.

“I lost her and now I’m going to lose Chloe and Trixie too.” He wailed, dropping the damp tissues onto the table and grabbing fresh ones.

“Why are you going to lose _them?”_ Collins asked, gently. He was quietly pleased with how this was going, they were on the home stretch, now.

“When I tell them what I _did_.” Dan croaked and spluttered between sobs.

“Why on _Earth_ would you do that?” Collins asked, horrified.

“I have to admit… to make amends…”

“You’ve _already_ admitted what you did. To me, to Mr. Morningstar, to…” He looked through his notes. “Mazikeen Smith and Agent Denis York of the F.B.I. We’re not doing ‘twelve steps‘, here and, if we _were,_ hurting your ex-wife and your child would _not_ be in the spirit of that.”

“I _don’t_ have to tell them?” Dan’s voice was a husky whisper and his relief was obvious.

“Have you been torturing yourself over this?” Collins asked, keeping the exasperation out of his voice.

“Yeah. I thought we were leading up to it; thought you’d have them come in, so I could…”

“Devastate them? Ruin their lives? Make them _hate_ you? Give _you_ reasons to give in and stop living?”

“Yeah. All of that.”

“I’m here to _help_ people, not make them _worse_ , not tear them apart. Part of my job is to _heal_ family rifts - not that _you_ need that. You have friends that _care_ about you, a daughter that _loves_ you and an ex-wife that _doesn’t_ want to scratch your eyes out, whenever you’re in the same room together. That _last_ one is an especially rare commodity.”

Dan snorted with unexpected amusement, then wished he hadn’t, as fresh snot erupted. Dr. Collins tactfully averted his eyes until the problem was dealt with.

“Your friends and family _don’t_ want to lose you and, presumably, haven’t known what they could do to _help_ you. You’ve tried to bury your pain with _work_ \- which is okay, in _theory_ but you’ve needed this… time out. Now, as I said, _my_ opinions on Heaven and Hell are irrelevant but if I were _you_ \- with your upbringing and that niggling feeling that it _might_ all be true - I would hedge my bets.”

Dan looked at him, nodding expectantly; not realizing that he was meant to fill in the details, himself. Collins sighed.

“ _I_ would try to be the best person I could, _that_ way, if it _is_ alltrue, you’ll join Charlotte in Heaven.”

“And if it _isn’t_ , I’ll have lived my life so _well_ that I’ll be happy to look at myself in the mirror. I’ll be the father that Trixie deserves.”

“Yes. Exactly that. You obviously know the _difference_ between right and wrong, you feel _guilt_. Guilt eats at you, kills you from the inside. I‘m not saying it‘ll be _easy_ but if you can avoid doing _anything_ that you‘ll feel guilty for, your life _will_ be easier to _live_.”

***

Lucifer and Kinley

“I’m staying here a while, am I?” Kinley asked, dryly, as Lucifer unrolled a camping mattress and put a sleeping bag on top of it.

“Until I decide what to do with you. It’s not like I can let you go.” He put a grocery bag down on the floor and a six pack of bottled water.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Beef jerky and cereal bars. You won’t starve… unless you choose to.”

“I won’t be able to open _any_ of that with only one hand.” Kinley pointed out.

“I’ve considered that. I can heal you.”

He _had_ considered it, at _length_. He didn’t _want_ to heal Kinley but he was keeping a mantra in his head, these days: _What Would The Detective Do?_ and he knew that, no matter what scum _she_ was dealing with, they would be dealt with _humanely_ because, as she had already proved with Perry Smith, _she_ was a good person and Lucifer _would_ live up to her ideals. He didn’t want to be a monster.

“As if I’d let you _tempt_ me that way. Christ Our Saviour wasn‘t tempted, in the wilderness, _I_ shall be strong, too.” Kinley answered, piously and doing his best to look like a holy martyr.

Lucifer snorted, wondering if he should enlighten Kinley as to what had _really_ happened in the ‘wilderness’, between him and his half-brother. Kinley was probably _already_ visualizing his very own stained-glass window, so Lucifer decided _not_ to disillusion the would-be future saint. After all, if the man starved himself to death, voluntarily, it wouldn’t be _Lucifer’s_ fault; he’d _offered_.

“As you wish. It’s your choice.” He said.

Then he left.

***


	10. Playing By The Rules

Kinley

He doesn’t know how long it’s been and he refuses to ask Satan for… _anything_ , even basic information. It’d all be more _lies_ , anyway.

His wrist is hot and swollen, the skin shiny and red; it throbs, painfully, inside his shirt but he won’t be asking for help with _that_ either. He’s sure to be rescued soon, isn’t he?

He’s made use of the food and water - no sense starving to death before his rescuers arrive - the packaging wasn’t too hard to open, using his ‘good’ hand and his teeth. The water bottles could be held between his knees whilst he unscrewed the lid - even slightly warm, it tasted better than the stuff from the tap.

***

Lucifer

He doesn’t visit Kinley _every_ day but he makes sure he drops off enough supplies each time he _does_ , to last until the next time. The man doesn’t meet his eyes and refuses to speak to him, now. Lucifer’s asked if there’s anything in particular that Kinley might _want_ \- he must be bored - but he just shakes his head. Unasked, Lucifer left him books but they appear to be untouched, one visit to the next.

York had ruled out giving him over to Interpol because _official_ custody came with certain _rights_. Kinley would, obviously, given the chance, get in touch with his colleagues, tell them _all_ about the - _alleged_ \- Anti-Christ. Beatrice would be in danger all over again.

The wording of the covering letter that Kinley had sent with his - _intended_ \- package to Rome, proved that his fellow ‘Vatican Investigators’ hadn’t known about the _exact_ nature of his - apparently, _self_ appointed - mission. Lucifer and the others wanted it to stay that way.

Maze was - unsurprisingly - in favour of killing the worthless, Hell-bound scum, _personally_. As painfully as she could. Over the course of many weeks, if possible.

York didn’t like to admit that _he_ would be willing to help her. Or at least _watch_. Lucifer had _felt_ it, though, with his affinity for unspoken desires. It had come off the man like smoke, whilst the two of them had listened to Maze’s graphic description of her _preferred_ plan of action. As a long standing friend of Daniel‘s, York considered Beatrice to be part of his extended family, much like Lucifer and Maze did.

“I can’t let _you_ kill him _for_ me, it would be as bad as doing it myself.” Lucifer said, quietly, to Maze. “It’d be like… what you said about Amenadiel - when he lost his wings - murder _adjacent_ and I find that I _don’t_ want to provoke Dear Old Dad, after all. Not when everything is going so _well_.”

His Father wanted him on Earth.

The thought struck Lucifer so hard that he had to sit down.

“Ohh.” He breathed. Why had it taken him so _long_ to realize?

“What?” Maze demanded, her blade suddenly in her hand.

Lucifer looked up at them both, amused to see that York had taken his cue from Maze and had reflexively drawn his gun, while scanning the motel room for any sign of threat.

“Dad told Beatrice that _I_ was her guardian angel.” He explained, waving a hand to indicate that the weapons were unnecessary. “He must _want_ me on Earth. Must have wanted me here at _least_ since her birth…”

“So all the time Amenadiel was trying to send you back to Hell…” Maze snarled, remembering all the shit they’d been through.

“Yeah.” Lucifer sighed. “Typical of Dad, not keeping us in the loop.”

“Humans died because of _that_ , doesn’t it give _you_ some leeway? If you have to _protect_ her, can’t you kill… when it‘s necessary?” Maze sounded hopeful.

“In the heat of the moment, _maybe_ but not in cold blood, when there’s another choice, no.”

“What’s the worst he could do?” Maze demanded, angrily.

“Oh, let me think.” Lucifer said, sarcastically. “He could banish us back to Hell, permanently and give the job of protecting Beatrice to one of my useless siblings...”

***

Dan

“…Lucifer could tellher.” Dan said, worriedly. “At _any_ time. He’ll always have that leverage…”

“Yes, in theory. If he _wanted_ to hurt Chloe and Trixie that badly. Do you think he would?” Dr. Collins asked, keeping his voice light, as though the subject was unimportant - they may as well have been discussing whether or not it might rain later.

“No, I don’t _think_ he would… but, _everyone_ says that keeping secrets from loved ones is _bad_. When Chloe found out about… when _I_ told her about Palmetto, she only _slapped_ me, when she _could_ have arrested me… _now_ though…”

“She’s forgiven you? Trust me, she will _not_ forgive you for _this_.”

“But…”

“No buts. _You_ hated Mr. Morningstar for something that you, _now_ admit _he_ had _no_ part of; hated him to the extent that you tried to do him serious harm…” He sounded more forceful, now - upping his game.

“Kinley said it was just…”

“A _sedative_ , yes. Did you really _believe_ that, though?” Collins sighed, he really hadn’t expected Dan to _argue_ over this. “A Catholic priest, hears your confession, at a time when you are at the lowest you’ve ever been in your _life_. Turns out, _he_ knows that _you_ know Mr. Morningstar. Coincidence?”

Dan shakes his head.

“He tells you… _convinces_ you, that Mr. Morningstar is the literal devil and he wants _you_ to help banish him to Hell - a euphemism for _murder_ , if ever I heard one. Was it sheer _luck_ that he took confession from someone, not only _close_ enough to Mr. Morningstar to do him harm but _also,_ already predisposed to the notion?”

“No.”

“Trust me, even though you were _played,_ by a pro, your ex-wife and child would _never_ forgive you for trying to hurt someone _they_ clearly _love_ and they _certainly_ won’t forgive you for what almost happened to your daughter.”

“How can I ever look her in the eyes again after..?”

“You _can,_ because you _never_ intended to hurt _her_.” He had dropped his voice back down to a gentler level. “You kept Palmetto a secret to protect _yourself_ , you’ll keep _this_ a secret to protect them - _that’s_ what will make it easy to keep. You’ve been handed a second chance, Dan. That’s a very _rare_ thing, don’t waste it.”

***

Lucifer

“He’s manipulating you.” Maze said, spinning her blade, menacingly.

“You think I don’t _know_ that?” Lucifer sounded tired - bone weary, carrying-the-world tired. “All the time _I_ was trying to help Cain die - hoping I’d get my devil face back… Cain thinking if _he_ killed Amenadiel, he’d get his _curse_ back…” He sighed. “Were we _born_ bloody stupid? _Why_ would we assume that _Dad_ would give us something we _wanted_ in exchange for doing something _bad?_ Something he didn’t _want_ us to do. Since when do we _choose_ our punishments and then trick _Him_ into giving out a _reward_ , instead? Never, that‘s _when_ , bloody _never_.”

“Cain lost his mark, then wanted it _back_. I _still_ can’t get my head round that; after all the stuff he wrote in his journals.“ York said, shaking his head at the concept. “Be careful what you wish for, I guess.”

“Fucking pussy.” Maze snarled, disgustedly; wondering how she‘d ever _contemplated_ betraying Lucifer with that untrustworthy shit.

“I could have killed him…that last day… after Charlotte.” Lucifer said, quietly. “He had your blade, Maze, he was _trying_ to kill _me_. I _could_ have… I think, if The Detective hadn’t showed up, when she did, I _would_ have. Where would I be _now_ , if I had? What would have been taken from me?”

“It would have been self-defence.” York said.

“Not the point. Dad’s not big on extenuating circumstances; besides, I could have just _disarmed_ him…”

“You _did_ disarm him.” Maze said with a satisfied snigger.

“The point is, I didn’t _have_ to kill him, to survive but I think I _intended_...”

“Cain died, anyway. Would that have been your father’s way of making it… _right?”_ York asked.

“He wished his mark away, changed his mind, then died because of his own dumb-ass caveman immune system.” Maze laughed, as though it was the punch line to a joke.

“Yeah. That’s definitely Dad’s way of doing things. I wanted Cain _away_ from the people I care about - he‘s dead, now and _I_ didn‘t break the rules.”

“ _Please_ don’t give us that lame excuse that _’He has a plan’.”_ She sneered. “Never thought I’d hear _that_ from _you_.”

“Neither did _I_ but, when Beatrice was… _gone_ … it all seemed so _stupid_ and pointless - wanting my devil face back, _not_ wanting my wings. _They_ were all that saved… The Detective, _first_ and then The Spawn… from dying. Listening to Kinley‘s desires…” He shuddered. “I’ve seen _monsters_ … dealt with them in Hell. Now, I find _I_ no longer wish to be counted amongst their ranks.”

“So, we can’t kill him.” York said, firmly. “I‘m sure he‘ll be fine where he is, until another option presents itself. I’ve taken the names of the colleagues he mentions in his journal and given them to Interpol, so there should be _some_ arrests, coming out of this.”

“That’s something, at least.” Lucifer picked up the bag of supplies that he was taking to Kinley and unfurled his wings. “Must fly.” He said, with a smirk.

***

Dan

He’d showered, had breakfast and got dressed - _proper_ clothes, not the sweat pants and T-shirt combi he’d gotten used to wearing, in here.

Dr. Collins smiled when he saw what Dan was wearing; the man looked ready to face his next challenge.

“You’re sure that you can do this? I’ve already made the call but _I_ can talk to him - I need to, anyway - you can still back out.”

“ _You_ need to talk to him?” Dan sounded uncertain, now.

“Nothing confidential, obviously but the man _is_ paying for your treatment…”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. I trust you.”

“Good. This is going to be hard for you, I can’t pretend otherwise but, once this is _over_ with, the rest of the meetings will be _much_ easier.”

“Yeah, I can see that, yeah.” Dan took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

***


	11. Tempted

Today

Dr. Collins

He looked through the observation window at his new ‘patient’ - still sleeping off the anaesthetic - with a thrill of excitement; he couldn’t _wait_ to get started. This was so _unexpected_ , so _fortuitous_ ; who would have thought, when he woke up yesterday morning, that, by nightfall today, he would have _this?_

He checked the security protocols again - whatever happened, he could _not_ allow this… _evil_ , to ever walk the Earth again…

***

Three days ago

Dan

He checked himself out in the mirror for, what felt like, the fiftieth time. Fading bruises aside, he looked okay; same as the forty-ninthtime he’d looked. _Fuck_ , he was nervous. He tried not to think about that _last_ morning - before _here_ \- when he’d been so convinced that Lucifer _was_ The Devil, all because he’d fetched him clean clothes from his own apartment; it was all so _hazy_. Hazy and…

Stupid.

It was obvious to him, _now_ \- in his shiny, new, _rational_ state - that the clothes would have been fetched much earlier, in anticipation of his condition, what with _Maze_ bringing him in. Hell, she’d probably called _ahead_ to tell them, gloatingly, about the mess he was in.

He’d had nightmares and flashbacks - experienced with cringing shame and futile hopes that they were imagined - of how he’d gone psycho with the contents of Lucifer’s kitchen-knife block and had almost stabbed his oldest friend.

Psychotic break, emotional meltdown, severe mental breakdown; he‘d heard the terms - in the course of his job - but he‘d never dreamed that they could _ever_ be applied to _him_...

How had he let himself get _so_ messed up?

He looked at the mirror again; were Lucifer and Dr. Collins watching him, through it? He knew it was set up like the interview rooms at the precinct and he knew that Collins would observe his interaction with Lucifer and only intervene if absolutely necessary. A safety net.

There was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in.” He said, his voice hoarse with nerves.

And Lucifer came in.

***

Dr. Collins

He watched, through the glass, as Mr. Morningstar (“ _Please, I insist that you call me Lucifer, Darling_.”) walked into the room. Poor Dan looked to be a bundle of nerves and Collins wondered how long it would take him to realize that _Lucifer_ was, too. Despite the _appearance_ of oozing confidence, the man had a very _obvious_ ‘tell’.

He smiled as - after some barely audible exchange - Dan attempted to hug Lucifer and Lucifer tried not to flinch.

 _‘ **Definitely** touch starved; uncomfortable with non-sexual physical contact.’ _Was his snap diagnosis and, as Lucifer said something about Dan not weeping on his Armani: _‘Can’t handle the emotional displays of others - probably actively discouraged from showing emotion, as a child.’_

Dan snorted with amusement at the remark and the two of them sat down and there was more talking. They were keeping their voices pitched low, an almost instinctive reaction to the knowledge that they weren’t _truly_ alone; then Lucifer, clearly, said:

“In future, should you wish to murder me, can I ask that you attempt it, face to face and keep potential collateral damage to a minimum?”

 _‘Aaand, there goes all my hard work...’_ Collins thought, getting ready to go in and…

“Yeah, man, sure.” Dan said, calmly. “It won’t happen, though. I swear.”

“Do you?” Lucifer was looking into Dan’s eyes, now and Dan was looking steadily back at him. “Why, _Daniel_ , your guilt is… not _gone_ but surprisingly well _managed_ , now. How have you achieved that?”

“I… er guess Dr. Collins. I don’t know _how_ , though. All he did was listen to me and ask a few questions.”

Collins smiled at the assessment - the big _trick_ of what he did, was that the patient didn’t quite realize that anything was happening. His time with Dan had been a resounding success, despite the case being not _quite_ what he was used to.

Oh, he was used to conducting sessions where the patient talked, endlessly, about _another_ person but, the person in question was _usually_ some cult leader or guru, under whose influence, the unfortunate individual had fallen. Dan’s obsession with Lucifer wasn’t the same thing, at _all_.

“I’d steer clear of Mazikeen, in future.” Lucifer was saying, his voice very serious, now. “Where The Spawn is concerned, she’s very… _unforgiving_.”

“Yeah, she wasn’t exactly gentle when she dragged me to you but…”

“She won’t _kill_ you - it would hurt Beatrice - but there’s other things… I wouldn’t push my luck with her, if I were you.”

“What about Chloe?”

“She and Beatrice know _nothing_ about what you did and I, for one, want to keep it that way.”

“Yeah, me too. What does Trixie think happened, to put me here?”

“She doesn’t know the details, The Detective told her that you needed time out because you were still sad over Charlotte, she thinks it‘s some kind of vacation.”

“And Kinley?”

“He won’t be a problem.”

“You haven’t..?”

“ _No_. No. Turns out, Interpol have a pretty big file on Kinley and his Vatican Investigators - sounds like a soon to be cancelled TV show or a _really_ rubbish band - anyway, it seems that ‘exorcising the possessed’ is _actually_ a euphemism for murdering, in many cases; victims have included teenagers whose parents disapprove of their sexuality and the senile or mentally ill for the crime of embarrassing their families. There’s been a whole _string_ of arrests, so no, he won’t be a threat and the best part? _You_ don’t have to be involved because they have _all_ the evidence they need, they just didn’t have the names.”

“Kinley flipped on his buddies?”

“No, the lovely Agent York got hold of Kinley’s private journal after we intercepted a package, at a courier company, in the middle of the night… it was all terribly _thrilling_.” Lucifer smirked, all lit up, like an excited twelve-year-old.

Dr. Collins watched the body language, carefully. He understood what Dan had meant by ‘lying and telling the truth at the same time’ and he knew _that_ was what Lucifer was doing, right _now_.

Interesting. He wondered what the _full_ truth of the story was. Personally, he would _love_ the chance to treat Lucifer but he knew it was unlikely to happen, the man _had_ a therapist, already.

From their brief meeting - they were going to have a _proper_ talk _after_ Lucifer had seen Dan - he realized that the man was charismatic in the extreme, almost unnaturally so. He felt sure, now he’d _met_ him, that Lucifer _had_ grown up in a cult and not as a ‘sheep’ either; he had, in all probability, been groomed to take over from his father, someday. Somewhere along the line, though, there’d been a falling out and Lucifer had been cut loose - cast out - and had been making his own way in a world that was unprepared for the reality of him.

Collins had seen the websites - the man had a _huge_ online presence - many fan-sites, celebrating everything from his musical talent to his sexual prowess but, recently, it seemed, his life had changed. He had announced - on the Lux website - that he was in a committed, monogamous relationship with one Detective Chloe Decker.

Dan had told Collins all about the ninety-two sex partners in eight weeks _and_ how crushed Lucifer had been, when so many of them said how _good_ but how _meaningless_ the experience had been for them. Did Lucifer’s announcement mean that he’d finally figured out the difference between sex and love? Collins _really_ hoped so because, now that he’d _met_ the man, he realized how _dangerous_ Lucifer Morningstar could be…

***

Kinley

Where were his rescuers? What was keeping them? How long had it been?

He’d kept track of the number of times Satan had dropped off food and water and he _thought_ he _might_ have been here for six days but he wasn’t sure. He was sleeping a lot and drinking a lot of water - his throat felt dry and scratchy and his skin felt tight and hot - The Evil One had offered, again, to heal him but he had just shook his head and turned his face to the wall. He had faith that God wouldn’t let him die here…

***

Lucifer and Dr. Collins

“You’ve done a simply _marvellous_ job, Doctor.” Lucifer said, all smiling sincerity. “It’s like you’ve given him a Douche-ectomy.”

Collins did his best not to laugh at the inappropriate humour but, in the privacy of his own head, he had to admit that Dan had many douche-y characteristics.

“Yes, well, Dr. Martin asked for me specifically. I specialize in deprogramming cult members - preferably _before_ they sign away their trust funds.” He said, with a smile, watching Lucifer’s face carefully, hoping to get some kind of reaction which would confirm his theory but there was nothing.

“Are you likening the Catholic church to a cult, Doctor?” Lucifer asked, delightedly.

“I imagine its origins were similar, yes.” He wasn’t going to elaborate, leave a gap in a conversation and _most_ people try to fill it, often by saying more than they intended.

“And _have_ you deprogrammed Daniel, do you think?” Much as Lucifer _wanted_ to broaden this talented doctor’s knowledge of the origins of Christianity, Linda had warned him to _not_ flaunt his ‘Lucifer-ness‘, unduly.

“Not entirely - _that_ would take a lot longer, the roots run deep - but his crisis is over, he’s back to being a lapsed Catholic and I don’t imagine he’ll _ever_ listen to a priest again.”

“He’s not overburdened with _guilt_ , either; I’d love to know how you achieved _that_. _He_ said, you _listened_ and asked a few questions. Is it really _that_ easy?”

“Not _easy_ , or anyone could do it and no one would bother to pay _me_ but it is doable, provided the patient doesn’t _know_ what’s being done. I’m giving them back their free will but it only works if _they_ think it‘s their _own_ idea.”

“I’m all for that but you’ve still not told me _how.”_

“I let them talk me through what happened, I ask a few, carefully worded, questions; I help them see the evidence differently…” He wasn’t used to trying to explain, people usually just shook his hand and _paid_ …

“You sound like a lawyer.”

“I studied law, to begin with…” _Damn_ , he hadn’t meant to say that. Why had he?

“Something happened, didn’t it Doctor?” Lucifer leaned towards him and he was suddenly - _irrationally_ \- glad of the desk between them. “You still carry the guilt, even after all this time.” Lucifer said gently, looking into his eyes. “Tell me.”

“I was studying law and I was _good_ at it. Not bragging, just being truthful.” He said, quietly. Why was he telling this to a stranger? _This_ stranger.

“I understand. Go on.”

“I had a room-mate; well, we _all_ did, student housing, you know? Two to a room, picked at random, the _best_ you could hope was that they weren’t too annoying. He wasn’t. He was quiet and studious and then _one_ day, he was gone.”

“Dropped out?” Lucifer asked, although he was fairly sure that that wasn’t it.

“ _I_ thought so and, I suppose he had, in a way. He’d joined a cult but I didn’t find _that_ out until after he… after he died.” He looked Lucifer squarely in the eyes. He hadn’t intended to tell him _any_ of this but now he _was_ , he wanted to see how the other man reacted. “It was 1997 and there was a comet.”

Lucifer flinched.

“Heaven’s Gate.” He ground out, his face twisted with revulsion.

“Yes.” Collins was certain, now, that Lucifer had nothing to do with that _particular_ cult.

“And you dropped law and studied psychology, instead. You must have been very close to him.” Lucifer said.

“No. I _wasn’t_ ; not in the slightest and that made it _worse_. We shared a living space but we were indifferent to each other; it was wrong on so many levels. His mother… she asked me how it was that I didn’t report him missing and when I _explained_ …” He couldn’t go on, he felt _naked_ before this man; he _couldn’t_ tell him how convincingly he had argued his point… with all the skill that he might have, one day, used in a courtroom… he had faced the grieving mother and got himself off the hook but he still _felt_ like a worm.

“What was his name?” Lucifer asked, looking at him with a strange intensity.

Collins told him, then watched, fascinated, as the mesmerising, almost-black eyes slid out of focus for a few seconds.

“He’s not in Hell.” Lucifer said, at last. “Applewhite is, though but I don’t suppose that’s any consolation. Suicides _usually_ go but, in this case, they didn’t _see_ it as suicide; they were _coerced_ , so it’s murder. _He_ bears the punishment, not your friend and not the others.”

“I…” He didn’t know what to say. Growing up in a cult was _one_ thing but this man truly _believed_ that he was Satan himself. He wished that he could help him; it would be a _huge_ challenge but he’d never backed away from a challenge in his life.

“I imagine that every time you turn a poor unfortunate _away_ from some dubious messiah, that you feel you’ve spat in Applewhite’s eye.” Lucifer continued, perceptively.

“Yes. That’s it _exactly_. People don’t deserve to be _controlled_ that way, just because they want something to _believe_. An inoffensive student is _dead_ because his only major fault, was believing that ‘The X-Files’ was based on true stories.”

“Even if you’d _known_ , you might not have been able to talk him out of it.”

“I realize that, of course. It doesn’t really _help_ though. All I can do, to make amends, is _this_.”

“You’ve done a fine job on Daniel and I will, of course, settle the fee but, tell me, Doctor, what is it that you _truly_ desire?”

It was the oddest feeling, he tried to analyse it, later; a churning and squirming deep in him, a need, a wish, struggling urgently, to push its way into the light and he had no way to hold it back…

“I want… I want to… go head-to-head with one of those bastards.” He blurted.

“Which bastards in particular?” Lucifer had a look on his face that was an amalgam of curiosity and amusement.

“People like _Applewhite_ and _Jones_ and your _father_ and that utter _shit,_ Kinley.”

Unexpectedly, Lucifer laughed.

“Priceless, Doctor. My father would be _mortified_ to be thought of in _that_ company.” He glanced upwards. “ _Is_ mortified, I’m sure. What _ever_ has Daniel been saying?”

“He talked about you a _lot_ , I was just reading between the lines…” He sighed. 

“And what do you think you’ve _gleaned_ from… between the lines?” There was no playful humour in Lucifer’s attitude, now. Collins decided to go out on a limb, anyway.

“I would _guess_ that you grew up _differently_ to the rest of the children - your _siblings_. You were _all_ raised to think of your father as ‘God’ but the _others_ were raised to be… neatly ordered, loyal, unquestioning sheep, while _you_ … He probably told you that you were his favourite, manipulated your feelings, to plant a spark of… _chaos_ …”

“Fascinating. To what purpose? In _your_ opinion.” Lucifer’s eyes were skewering his own, now.

“I would say that he wanted you to have _backbone_ , to be able to make your own decisions, to _not_ blindly follow… he was grooming an _equal_ , I think or _trying_ to but that’s a risky business and _you_ … rebelled?”

“I wanted no part of his plan.” Lucifer said, his voice flat and emotionless, his smile fixed.

“Then, there’s your affinity for _desire_ ; have you ever heard the term ‘Flirty Fishing’? I’m asking because you are, by all accounts, a profoundly _sexual_ person.” He hoped that this assessment wouldn’t _anger_ Lucifer; the number of teeth visible in the man’s smile was starting to make him nervous. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stop.

“You think _Father_ raised _me_ to be like that _‘Children Of God’_ cult? _Shagging_ to lure new converts and cash.” He laughed. “I know that you _humans_ have, traditionally, considered me to be the _ultimate_ tempter but…” His voice abruptly stopped.

“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” Collins said, recognising the signs. “Some perspective has _shifted_ , for you.”

“Yes.” Lucifer looked crestfallen. “I think I’d like to leave, now.” He took a huge roll of bills from his pocket and tossed it onto the desk. “Let me know if that’s not enough.” There was false cheerfulness in his voice as he stood up. “And if it’s too much, keep the change. You’ve earned it.”

“I don’t want to upset you and you seem to have found a way to live with what was done to you but…” Collins started to say, finding his words wasted on an empty room.

***

Lucifer

He was rattled. What other explanation _was_ there for what he had done?

 _‘Don’t flaunt your Lucifer-ness.’_ Linda had warned him and _he’d_ … shut the door to Doctor Collins’ office, behind him, spread his wings and _shifted_ directly to his penthouse.

He had needed a drink, _that_ badly.

His flask was usually his _‘go to’_ but there just wasn’t enough _in_ it, not for this.

He chugged the last mouthful of scotch from the - previously full - bottle in his hand, putting the empty down on the bar.

That was better. _That_ had taken the edge off. His thoughts were less _jagged_ , now. He could get to grips with them.

Favourite.

An _equal?_

Chaos.

_‘I wanted no part of his plan.’_

**_Tempter._ **

He had thought what had happened in Eden was his _own_ idea.

He sat down at the piano but couldn’t bring himself to touch the keys. He lit a joint, inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and _remembered_.

He could smell the grass, the clean air, the flowers... _Her_. His father’s new creations didn’t _smell_ the same as his siblings and the scent of _her_ , stirred something. _Two_ somethings, if he was being honest. An, as yet, _unused_ part of his brain, for one and an equally unused part of his _body_ , for two.

 _Sexual_ desire _._

The brand new concept had _flared_ in his mind, as the human woman - Eve - leaned back, seductively, against the trunk of the tree, unselfconsciously displaying her body, in all its naked glory. Without even _thinking_ , he had shucked his robe to the ground, matching her nudity.

She had smiled, then, her eyes scanning down and resting, just below his waist.

“So beautiful.” She had murmured, stepping forward and _touching_. “So big.” And, looking up into his eyes: “I would like to feel it, inside me.”

She had been his first and, while he had been tenderly savouring the feel of her silken interior, larger hands than hers had gripped his hips, thumbed his buttocks apart and teased, then breached the tight little hole that he hadn’t even known he had.

Adam had been his second.

Had his father _planned_ it? The thought was revolting but, he had to admit that the two human creatures _had_ changed - mentally - afterwards. Gifted with the _potential_ of free will, the two of them only seemed to start _using_ it after _him_. He smiled, remembering Eve’s first attempt at clothing - edible leaves - and the fun _he_ had had discovering oral sex…

Had Doctor Collins ruined this memory by making him wonder if it had been less _his_ disobedience than his father’s using him as a catalyst?

He had to talk to Linda. Urgently.

He ground the spent joint out, into his ashtray and got up.

“Bollocks.” He had to go _back_ , he’d left the bloody Corvette parked outside the damned clinic…

***


	12. Moments of Clarity

Lucifer

He’d paid off the woman in the waiting room and, when _she’d_ left, let himself into Linda’s office, paid off George _(‘Don’t know why I bother coming here, **you** always show up; you‘re not her **only** patient...’) _and watched _him_ leave, muttering disgruntledly as he stuffed his newly acquired wodge of hundies into his wallet.

Only then, when it was just him and Linda, did Lucifer allow himself to fall apart. He dropped onto the couch and put his face in his hands, a picture of misery.

“Lucifer? What’s happened? Can you talk about it?” A horrible thought struck her. “Are Chloe and Trixie all right?”

“Yes. They’re fine, they stayed on at the cabin; almost losing The Spawn has made The Detective keen on spending ‘quality time’ alone with her. They’re expecting me back there, sometime this evening.” He took his flask out of his pocket and, ignoring Linda’s frown, took a long swallow. “I went to see Daniel.”

“And Doctor Collins.” Linda sighed. “What happened?” She had a horrid feeling of foreboding.

“Daniel’s doing really well, hardly douche-y at all, now. I think we might get through this without anyone _else_ finding out what a colossal _arse_ he was being.” Lucifer sounded bright and _exactly_ as if he was dodging Linda’s question.

“Lucifer, what did Doctor Collins say to you?”

“He explained that Daniel was back to being a lapsed Catholic - which _he_ could, probably, reduce down to Atheism, given time but it wouldn’t _really_ be necessary - then he told me how he got into his job - why he changed career.”

“And why was that?”

“He knew someone who died in the ‘Heaven’s Gate’ mass suicide event of 1997...”

“ _No_ , why would he tell _you_ something so personal?”

“I don’t know, I have one of those faces..?” He tried to look innocent. Linda wasn’t fooled.

“You asked about his desires, didn’t you?”

“Well, _yes.._ but only _after_ he’d told me _that_.”

“And then what happened?”

“He told me his desire, mentioned my father, along with some otherinfamous _would-be_ deities; told me some of his theories about _my_ childhood, _shifted_ my perspective and I left his office and _shifted_ to the penthouse.”

“You used your _wings?_ In a public place?”

“He made me doubt… _everything_. My _choices_ , my father’s influence over me… my _freewill_. I _had_ to get out of there.” He had never sounded so defeated, in all the time Linda had been seeing him.

“That’s his talent, Lucifer, providing ‘moments of clarity‘… and if, as _he_ obviouslythought, you _had_ grown up in a cult…”

“ _You_ never tried to do that to me.” He sounded almost panicked.

“No, I didn’t.” Linda said, gently. “Doctor Collins is a _very_ insightful man, who, almost _exclusively_ , works with the victims of religious brainwashing and, with a few well chosen words, can change a person’s _view_ of their lives - take them back to what they _were_ … _but_ , in your case, he was making assumptions, based on his _usual_ clients. He doesn’t know _you_ or your situation.” She paused and looked at him. “He _doesn’t_ , right?”

“I told him his… acquaintance… wasn’t in Hell.”

“But he didn’t _see_ anything? You didn‘t _show_ him..?”

“Certainly not. Even if he had CCTV outside his office… manifesting my wings releases a certain amount of energy…”

“Cameras get broken?”

“No… it shows up as a flare… a bright light… like reflecting sunlight onto the lens. By the time it cleared I would have been long gone.”

“Well, _good_. Now, what did he say to upset you?”

“He implied that my father had groomed me to use sex as a.. _recruitment_ tool, which I thought was _laughable_ but then, I realized that… well… when I was in _Eden_ …”

“The stuff with the apple and the snake was..?”

“Metaphors, Doctor. Eve saw me, _wanted_ me and chose to do something about it. Adam too.”

“And you think that _God_ made you do that? Why _would_ he?”

“They _had_ freewill but… you couldn’t _see_ it… in their behaviour… they were just… _instinctual_ , until _after_ ; then…” He shrugged.

“You think that sleeping with _you_ was the first choice that Eve ever made?”

“The first _important_ choice…” He smiled at Linda’s raised eyebrow. “ _Not_ being egotistic, not _this_ time; she was _made_ for Adam, literally _from_ him- they were a mated pair - I imagine their sex life was driven by the urge to procreate. I represented _another_ option; curiosity drove her to _choose_ to experience… me.”

“And what _about_ Adam? Did he consider her to be… property?”

“If he did, he kept it to himself; Lilith poisoned _that_ chalice. When _he_ wouldn’t recognise _her_ equality, she left him. A story for another time, I think and not for _me_ to tell.”

“So, no jealous tantrums?”

“No. As a matter of fact, _he_ had _me_ , while I had Eve - sex for _pleasure_ , with _no_ possibility of procreation - a first. A _choice_.” He was looking down, lost in his own memories and misery and so, didn’t see a _stricken_ look briefly cross Linda’s face. “My point is, that neither of them had made decisions like that _before;_ just… what food to eat, where to sleep - trivial, meaningless… they didn’t even wear _clothes_ …”

“Until _you_. You _were_ clothed, when you met them?” Despite her current _issues_ , Linda was a professional. She focused on Lucifer.

“Yes.”

“That gave them the idea? They hadn’t _needed_ to because they lived in a temperate climate, yes?”

“Yes. Eve decided that habitually covering their bodies made sex more interesting, not _seeing_ everything all the time, made it more of an _event_.”

“Putting some mystery into the act. _That,_ I understand but The Bible says it was about _shame_.”

“The Bible talks a lot of bollocks about shame and blame; _that_ part was written by men who wanted an _excuse_ to keep women subjugated - although, from _that_ point of view, what _Adam_ did was probably _worse_ but his bisexuality went by without a blip - I suppose they couldn‘t very well condemn _man_ along with woman. That wouldn’t have been very self-serving.” He sighed at the hypocrisy of men that had been dead for millennia but were still influencing people's beliefs. “Eventually, _Eve_ invented striptease.” Lucifer smiled at _that_ memory. “She had no use for _shame_. Once the human population grew, _clothing_ equalled privacy as well as protection from the elements…” He smiled. “..and the more… _prickly_ plant life.

“And you _now_ think that your father, _used_ you to start this change?”

“Maybe he got bored waiting for them to _do_ stuff. Maybe, it was like watching the dullest reality TV in existence. He _designed_ them to have freewill - figured their lives were too _short_ for their choices to _matter -_ and he settled down to watch the chaos unfold… only… it _didn’t._ ”

“How did _you_ come to be there?”

“They were taking up _all_ of his time; they had what _we -_ my siblings and I _\- didn’t_ have… _freedom_ and _I_ wanted it too…”

“So you _chose_ to go to them.”

“I always _thought_ so, yes.”

“To see what freewill _looked_ like?”

“ _Yes_ but what if..?”

“No, Lucifer, it’s not as _easy_ as that. You _were_ the only one of your siblings to _want_ to be free, yes?”

“Yes. The others just wanted to serve and _praise_ …”

“It’s a paradox - catch 22 - you have to _have_ freewill to _know_ that you _want_ it. With _out_ it, you would have been content to… serve and praise; it would _never_ have occurred to you to rebel, if you lacked the capacity for independent thought.”

“You’re suggesting that maybe I was _created…_ to… rebel?” He looked at her in utter disbelief, this was too similar to what Dr. Collins had said.

“I have _no_ way of knowing but, what if.. _you_ were created like Adam and Eve - _free_ to desire and _choose_ \- and, like them, it had no discernable effect, at the start.” She sipped her water. “Tell me, if what they did with _you_ , in the garden, _wasn’t_ a sin, why were they thrown out over it?”

“Another thing The Bible got wrong - original sin, expulsion from paradise - I _think_ , now, that they were more… ‘released into the wild’ than expelled. They’d started to _choose_ for themselves, make _decisions_ , they didn’t need to be… _kept_ , like livestock. They certainly weren’t _sinners_ \- they both went to Heaven when they died.”

“And _you_ were sent to Hell.”

“Not for _that;_ for _rebelling_ , for shouting my mouth off about freedom, for trying to get my siblings to stand _with_ me. Mum told me she had to talk Dad out of destroying me, for that.”

“You’re sure that that was the truth? I know _you_ don‘t lie but she didn‘t _exactly_ strike me as trustworthy.”

“No, I’m _not_ sure. It could well have been a ploy to keep me from sending her back to Hell. Manipulation designed to pit me against Him, to take _Her_ side if there was a war..” His eyes flared slightly. “Collins speculated that _Dad_ was raising me to be an equal; Mum would have been wary of that, if true.” He swigged from his flask. “ _Beatrice_ told me that Dad said she had the most powerful guardian angel in creation and, apparently, that ‘angel’ is me.”

“Trixie came _that_ close to dying?”

“She was badly damaged - in a _coma_ \- if I hadn’t still had my wings…” He swallowed more from his flask. “..that bright, _innocent_ soul would have hung around, outside the gates of The Silver City, until it was her _time_ or until her parents pulled the plug.” He scrubbed at the fresh tears, with the back of his hand. “ _That’s_ a perception shift. _That_ , right there. If I hadn’t got my wings back, I wouldn’t have been able to save her _or_ The Detective and that’s what _matters_.”

“So, you think that _everything_ \- from Eden, all the way to getting your wings back - was your father’s manipulation?”

“It’s as though he’s rubbing my nose in it - that he knows _best_ \- _‘Cut off your wings, Son; **I’ll** make them grow back, until **you** see that you **need** them.’ _I can’t _bloody_ win.”

“Yes but if you’d _won_ , Chloe and Trixie would both be _dead_ …”

“And, there, as Darling Will said, is the rub; I’ve _always_ been willing to sacrifice myself for them…” Hellfire filled his eyes, briefly, his tears magnifying the effect, as he realized something. “It’s all my fault, how I could I be so _stupid?”_ He breathed. “I _promised_ him this.”

“You _did?”_

“It was before you… _knew_. My idiot brother took a damned soul out of Hell and tried to use him to murder me.”

“You said that he shot you and that you _died_ and I…” The horror of her realization made her insides squirm.

“Thought it was a metaphor. I knew I was dying and I made Dad a promise…”

“I thought _that_ was to do with your mother..?”

“So did I, at the time but maybe it was _never_ about her…” His voice tailed off as he started to think about it. “He _couldn’t_ have wanted me to take her back to Hell because there was no way for me to _do_ it. I didn’t have my wings and Amenadiel didn’t have _his_. Ididn’t find _that_ out until later but _Dad_ would have known…”

“What, _exactly_ , did you promise him?”

“Bloody _every_ thing: ‘ _I’ll be the son you always wanted me to be… I’ll do as you ask. Go where you want me to. In exchange, all I ask is that you protect Chloe.’_ I set my _self_ up, for _all_ of this.”

“Just Chloe? Not Trixie, as well? And no _limit_ on what you owe him?”

“I wasn’t thinking very clearly, I didn’t have _time_ to work out a proper, _airtight_ , deal; it _was_ my dying breath, Doctor…”

***

Doctor Collins

“Huh.”

He looked around the area outside of his office. Deserted. In, literally, moments… the time it had taken him to stand up, leave his desk and cross to the closed door, Lucifer had vanished.

He glanced out of the window, Lucifer’s car was still in the parking lot and the man himself was nowhere in sight. That meant he was still in the building, didn’t it? Maybe the visitor’s bathroom?

He’d upset him and he _really_ hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t intended to say _any_ of that, it just… the man had looked into his eyes and he… couldn’t seem to shut up. _God_ , he’d practically accused him of _prostitution_ and his father of being a pimp…

***

Lucifer

“So, what will you _do?”_ Linda asked, fairly sure that this situation was _way_ above her pay grade, even with what _Lucifer_ was paying her. How could _she_ help her _actual_ Devil patient, sort out an _actual_ deal with _God?_

“Admit that my father’s won?” Lucifer looked her right in the eyes, as he said that, his face deadly serious. Then, his mouth twitched slightly and then he laughed.

“Lucifer?” Oh, this wasn’t good, now he was _hysterical_ , what was she going to do? Should she phone Chloe?

“Oh, your _face_ , Doctor…” Lucifer said, between chuckles and gasps for breath. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist… and _you_ thought…” He dissolved into giggles.

Linda waited him out and, eventually, he stopped. Then, he pulled out his flask, opened it and held it towards the ceiling, as if he was making a toast.

“Well played, Dad, well played _indeed_.” He drank the last of its contents, before putting the flask away.

“Lucifer?”

“Don’t you _get_ it Doctor?” Linda still looked blank. “This is what I _agreed_ to. I haven’t _lost_ and _he_ hasn’t won. It was a _deal_ \- I wanted protection for The Detective and _Dad_ wanted protection for Beatrice. Getting _me_ out of Hell achieved that.”

“So… his deal was..?”

“Worthy of one of _mine_. I _always_ try to _not_ ask for anything that the _other_ party would be… _reluctant_ to give; I’m nothing if not a _reasonable_ Devil.” He pulled his phone out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make.”

“Riight..” Linda said, as Lucifer rose and pulled the door open. “And the ‘Eden’ stuff?” She felt sure that they would be revisiting _that_ at a later date.

“Water under the bridge..” He said, flapping his hand to indicate the triviality of it. “..so _very_ long ago.” His voice brightened, as his call was picked up. “Denis, _Darling_ , I have a _marvellous_ ideathat I need your help with…” Linda heard him say, into his phone, as he disappeared through the door.

***

Doctor Collins

That settled it, security had confirmed, Lucifer Morningstar _wasn’t_ in the building. Anywhere.

His car was _still_ in the parking lot, though, so he couldn’t have got far. He could have Uber-ed, of course but why _would_ he? Unless he was too upset to drive…

_‘ **I** did that.’ _Collins thought, disgusted with himself. _‘I could **see** that his confidence was an act and I just couldn’t resist stripping it away from him.’_

He went online and opened Suki Price’s blog - if _anyone_ knew where Lucifer Morningstar was, at _all_ times, it was her - no luck there, though; _she_ seemed to think that _he’d_ be wherever his Corvette was and, sure enough, she was speculating about his reasons for being at this clinic. She sited another occasion, when he’d been at a _different_ clinic and suggested that this, like that _other_ time, might be undercover police work.

Collins smiled at that - it had never even _occurred_ to this woman, that a man who _insisted_ that he was _The_ Devil, _might_ be in need of the kind of mental health adjustment that could only be found in a place like this - she was _truly_ one of the faithful.

Perhaps the _only_ one. Lucifer _could_ have followers, disciples, _worshippers_ but, he chose _not_ to.

_‘I wanted no part of his plan.’_

His father _had_ , definitely, been grooming an _equal_ ; Collins knew that, now. He also knew that Lucifer wanted no part of it and _that_ had probably led to him being cast out - his _fall_ , if you will - the proof was right here, for anyone to see.

Dan had given Lucifer a _huge_ build up and, the _reality_ of the man did _not_ disappoint; if Lucifer Morningstar _wanted_ to be worshipped, he _would_ be. It wouldn’t have to be as a _religious_ cult leader, either - although, he _could_ ; Collins was _sure_ that Satanist groups could be enlisted _easily_ , for starters - the man had other talents that would ensure adoration. He could sing, he could play piano and he was staggeringly attractive, with a sensuality that oozed from every pore; in short, he could sell-out stadiums - _worldwide_ \- instead of burying himself in a nightclub and helping out the LAPD, on a voluntary basis. He was famous _(infamous?)_ locally, when he could be global and had _so_ much charisma… Oh, he could be _incredibly_ dangerous, if he wanted…

The phone rang, shattering his train of thought...

***

Kinley

Soft.

His world was summed up by that word.

He was resting on a soft surface, the lighting was soft and there was a soft bleeping sound. He breathed the air and caught the unmistakable scent…

Hospital.

He felt safe and warm, for the first time in… however long it was.

He tried to move and managed to raise his head enough to look down his body. Bed covers were pulled up as far as his waist and he seemed to be wearing a hospital gown. His broken arm was in a cast and strapped across his chest, his _other_ arm…

Was restrained.

He experienced a instant of panic, before he noticed the I.V. tube snaking up to the bag of clear liquid that hung on the metal stand, next to the bed. Of course, they didn’t want him moving his arm and dislodging _that_.

He’d been rescued.

God had, _clearly_ , wanted him to succeed, making sure his colleagues found him, in time and thwarting The Devil‘s evil plans.

He fell asleep, smiling.

***


	13. Dealing

Linda

She sighed as she watched Lucifer stroll away, talking buoyantly into his phone, giving all the appearance of having not a care in the world. So different to how he had been when he arrived and, much as she would _like_ to take the credit, no thanks to her.

The lines had been blurring for some time, now and _not_ in the way they had at the beginning. He was her _friend_ and what had happened here this afternoon hadn’t _really_ been therapy - although Lucifer would _insist_ on paying her - more like metaphorical hand-holding, through the tilt-a-whirl of his emotions… Then again, he’d thought about his issues, had a breakthrough and come to a conclusion that he could live with… maybe the years of therapy she’d provided, _was_ helping him.

She wasn’t about toburden him with her own problems but she was _so_ scared.

Amenadiel had tried to have Lucifer murdered. His own flesh and blood. How had she _forgotten_ that? She supposed that her treatment of Lucifer could be divided into two halves: _before_ she knew the truth about him - thinking that everything he said was a metaphor, designed as a coping mechanism for a damaged psyche - and _after_ he showed her his face and the trauma she had suffered as a result. She hadn’t properly revisited ‘before’ since ‘after’.

She pulled Lucifer’s case notes from the hastily unlocked drawer of her desk, she was, after all, unexpectedly free for the rest of the afternoon. She flicked through the first year, until she got to the part that concerned Malcolm Graham…

***

Doctor Collins

The paperwork was all in order but, considering the source, he wasn’t surprised. The F.B.I. had approved this.

“He’s _technically_ a danger to _himself_ \- he refused treatment for his broken wrist and was delirious from the resulting fever, before _we_ took matters out of his hands - but it’s the danger he poses to _others…”_ Agent York handed him a thick folder. “This is a copy of the Interpol file, detailing the _known_ deaths that he has caused, worldwide, with his ‘exorcism’ techniques. If he is to be confined to _your_ facility, we must have certain guarantees.”

“Security has been.. _improved_ , recently.” Collins said, looking pointedly at Lucifer, who had insisted on paying for the upgrade.

“Yes, it’s clear that _escape_ isn’t likely but you _must_ guarantee that he will have _no_ contact with the outside world. This is _vital_. He’s fixated on Detective Espinoza’s daughter - believes her to be the Anti-Christ - if he gets the opportunity to contact _any_ of his colleagues, _her_ life will be in danger. This is a copy of his journal..” York handed him another file. “The original was intercepted on its way to the Vatican. He hasn’t managed to share his theories with his fellow investigators, yet. Let’s keep it that way.”

“I’ll be the only person he interacts with and you’ve both had a tour around his rooms…”

“I was expecting it to be more ‘Silence of the Lambs’..” Lucifer said, a note of disappointment in his voice. “..not quite so… _comfortable_ … but it’s below ground and the security looks good, that‘s the main thing. It wouldn’t hold _me_ , obviously but for a _human_ …”

“How will you handle the possible suicide risk?” York put in, hoping to distract attention from the excessive ‘Luciferness‘.

“Refusing medical treatment - putting your health in the hands of a deity - is a very _passive_ way to kill oneself, I doubt he’ll try anything _active_. Nevertheless, I thought that I’d _start_ by reminding him that suicides are damned to Hell…” Collins said, he was _really_ looking forward to Kinley being fit enough for him to… _study_.

“Oh, well _played_ , Doctor. Use his beliefs against him… very apt.” Lucifer smirked at the fun Dr. Collins was going to have.

“Just so you understand… he’s never going to be ‘cured’. If you ever feel that it’s time for him to leave here… well, other arrangements will have to be put in place.” Agent York said, firmly.

“What about the evaluations? The law requires…“

“The _paperwork_ will be kept up to date, of course but no one will actually be checking up on him… no one _official_ , that is.“ York said, glancing at Lucifer; did Collins need it spelling out?

Collins looked at both men, the hair on the back of his neck prickled when he met Lucifer‘s eyes, what kind of deal _was_ this?

“This _was_ what you desired?” Lucifer asked, puzzled.

“One of your deals.” Collins said, slowly. “What do _you_ get?”

“Not your soul, if _that’s_ what’s bothering you.” Lucifer said, with a smirk. “ _I_ get a dangerous fanatic, kept _away_ from my partner’s offspring.”

“Oh.” His mind raced. “I understand. Well, he’s sedated, in our medical wing, at the moment.” He was doing a fine impression of a detached professional, now but he doubted anyone was fooled. “He had to have surgery on his wrist and he’ll be on antibiotics for a while. He hasn’t been conscious enough to speak to _anyone_ , since he got here; I’ll be his only point of contact, for the duration of his stay.” Collins said, smoothly. “By the time he’s fit for me to… _treat_ , I’ll have read all these files and his journal…”

“Good enough. Keep me updated on any… _progress_.” York said, shaking his hand. “Particularly if he names any accomplices that aren’t already in the paperwork.”

“Of course. I have your number and I‘m _more_ than happy to do that…” He looked, apprehensively at Lucifer, wondering how to phrase his next question.

“What else can I help you with, Darling?” Lucifer asked, perceptively.

“I just wondered… if you _knew_ that Suki Price has a tracking device on your car?” He couldn’t really, in good conscience, let the man leave without asking. To his astonishment, Lucifer laughed.

“Of course I _know_.” He said. Agent York rolled his eyes, he _hadn’t_ known, nor had he even _heard_ of the woman.

“Is this something _I_ should be looking into?” York asked.

“No, of course not, it’s not like she’s tracking my _phone_. Besides, I have a… jamming… _thing_ , for when I want privacy but, for the most part, I don’t mind.”

“She seems quite obsessed, that _can_ get out of hand. Turn to violence…” Collins said, astounded that Lucifer wasn’t put out by the lengths that his _fan_ had gone to.

“She _was_ embarrassingly intense, when we _first_ met but since then… let’s just say that she merely wants to admire me from a distance.”

“The reality was too much for her? That happens sometimes, when people meet their idol, they’d rather just have their fantasies.” Collins said.

“Yes; she seemed to think that she wasn’t _good_ enough and, although I went to great pains to convince her _not_ to belittle herself that way, she didn’t _desire_ reality.” Lucifer shrugged, as if to say _‘What can you do?’_ “I’m off limits, these days, in any case.”

“How does she even earn a _living_?” York asked, sniggering at a picture of one of the Lucifer dolls - he’d Googled Suki Price’s website, while Lucifer and Collins were talking. “She seems to spend her nights at Lux, watching _you_ and her days sleeping it off and then blogging about it.”

“She _was_ struggling, poor dear but now, she gets paid for advertising Lux, on her website.” Lucifer said, his voice all exaggerated innocence.

“You mean _you_ pay her?” Collins spluttered, not sure whether he was shocked or amused.

“Well, I couldn’t very well let her end up living under a bridge, in a cardboard box, now could I? Those dolls that she makes and offers for sale, have a somewhat _limited_ appeal.”

“Oh I don’t know,” York said, with a smirk, “I’m thinking of getting one for Maze…”

***

Epilogue

Linda

“Manipulative son-of-a-bitch.” She murmured, under her breath.

 _‘Is that your **professional** opinion, Doctor?’ _She could almost hear Lucifer’s voice.

 _‘Told you I didn’t want him screwing with you.’_ Maze’s voice, echoed in her head. _‘Did-ya think I was jealous?’_

She _had_ known, of course; she had even called him out on it. The way he had _lied_ to her, gently coaxing her into hurting Lucifer… She remembered Lucifer’s rage, the hole he had punched through her office wall. Amenadiel had _known_ that Lucifer would be angry… what had he been trying to achieve?

Amenadiel had arranged the theft of Lucifer’s wings, in the hopes that he would want them back and then… what? Go back to Hell? Why would wanting them _back_ make him want to return to a place he hated? Unless he felt he _deserved_ to be there…

Had Amenadiel hoped that Lucifer would hurt _her?_ He had, after all, suggested she call him Samael, his original name, _knowing_ how enraged it would make him. Was that the plan? Use his guilt to drive him to reattach the wings and fly back to his throne?

Two men had _died_ because of the theft and another, Carmen Grant, was hopelessly insane because the wings had been taken away from him. Amenadiel was _responsible_ for that and had shown not a _shred_ of remorse. She remembered how he had been, when she had confronted him about the lies; how he had felt _justified_ , telling her that _she_ couldn’t understand the importance of the matters _he’d_ been dealing with. The important matter of banishing his brother to Hell.

Things had only got _worse_. Malcolm Graham, pulled out of Hell and ordered to murder Lucifer, had gone on to kill three _other_ people and kidnap Chloe’s child. He’d _almost_ succeeded in his mission, then _and_ very nearly taken out Chloe and Trixie, as well. Linda had never heard Amenadiel express any kind of _regret_ for those events.

Antisocial Personality Disorder, she speculated. He exhibited both the meticulous _planning_ of the psychopath _and_ the reckless disregard for others - in the pursuit of his own way - found in the sociopath. Was it _right_ to try to diagnose him? He wasn’t human, after all but, as an _angel_ , shouldn’t he be _better? Lucifer_ certainly was _._

How very ironic. The _Devil_ had a better moral compass than one of God’s _angels_.

Despite her current… _dilemma_ , Linda was certain that Amenadiel was the _last_ person she wanted to see right now; so, naturally, when she opened her office door, to head on home, he was in her waiting room…

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it, for now but there will be another sequel, dealing with the rest of season four.


End file.
